
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




























Rounding Cape Horn 


. . . AND . . 


Other Sea Stories. 

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The Ship “Sagamore 



Rounding Cape Horn 

.... AND .... 


Other Sea Stories. 


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By Walter McRoberts. 

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Ellustratefo fog (^rant OTrigfot. 


“ Roll on , thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; 
Man marks the earth \ with ruin — his control 
Stops with the shore T 


PEORIA, ILL. 

H. S. Hill Printing Company. 
i895 





T’Z - 3 


Entered according to Act of Congress, 
in the year 1894, 

BY WALTER McROBERTS, 

In the office of the Librarian, at Washington. 







. . TO . . 

J. HURPHY, M. D. 

These Stories are Affectionately Dedicated. 
By his friend, 


THE AUTHOR. 



INDEX. 


The Life-Savers, 

Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird, . 
My Brazilian Adventure, . . . . 

Bringing in a Derelict, 

The Monomaniac, 

Crossing the Line, 

Missing, 

A Dangerous Cargo, 

The Parson’s Text, 

V Rounding Cape Horn, 




7 

27 

57 

85 

* l 3 

161 

*93 
21 1 

2 33 

241 


The hands of the clock 
in the life-saving station 
pointed to a quarter of 
nine, on a wild March 
night along the New England coast. A 
bitter north-easter raged outside, driving 
the rising tide higher and higher upon 
the beach. It was almost at the flood, 
and only a narrow ridge of stones lay 
between the sea and the station. The 
surf thundered in like a solid wall — great 
combers that nothing could resist, flung 
themselves upon the beach with a sullen 
roar, and broke into a seething flood of 
foam. This foam was not the sparkling 
white substance into which the waves re- 
solve themselves in time of peace, but a 



8 


7 he Life-Savers. 


turbid yellowish froth, which, by the time 
it reached the shore, was nearly of the 
consistency of white of egg, beaten stiff. 
Great patches of it were caught up by the 
fierce wind and blown far inland, while 
others lodged against the walls of the life- 
saving station, where they mingled with 
the pelting snow that thickly covered the 
weather-side of the building. The water’s 
edge was piled with a tangled mass oi sea- 
weed, drift-wood, bottles, dead crabs, and 
a hundred different objects which the ocean 
had cast up. The undertow dragged out 
myriads of pebbles, which gave forth a 
peculiar musical roar as they were swept 
from the beach where they had lain through 
weeks of pleasant weather, now to be again 
swallowed up in the deep. The blackness 
out to sea was almost tangible — the force 
of the wind and the driving snow nearly 
blinded the patrolmen, struggling along 
their beats with every sense on the alert, 
and with only their beach lanterns for 
company. In a word, it was one of those 
awful nights when the government life- 
savers are often called upon to work like 


The Life-Savers. 


9 


Spartan heroes, and suffer incredible hard- 
ships and dangers that imperilled lives 
may be saved. One such night far out- 
balances the long term of inactivity 
(broken only by daily drill) that may have 
preceded it. 

Captain Litchfield, the keeper of the 
station, was in the observatory, whose 
windows commanded a view of the ocean 
anu ; beach for a long distance in either di- 
rection. Occasionally he caught a glimpse 
of the lighthouse two miles to the north, 
but the cheerful beacon was rendered dim 
by the snow which filled the air, and was 
invisible much of the time. As a violent 
gust beat against the frosty panes and 
shook the stout building, the keeper 
thought of the Peruvian , and other good 
ships that had met their fate on the Mas- 
sachusetts coast during just such ‘nights as 
this. He had doubled the beach patrol 
and now strained his eyes in momentary 
expectation of seeing the signal to all that 
coast that a disaster had occurred. It is 
a thrilling time — waiting and watching to 
hear the news of a wreck that is certain to 


IO 


The Life-Savers. 


take place; striving to locate the doomed 
craft in the profound darkness out at sea; 
hoping against hope that some miracle 
may avert the impending catastrophe! 

Just at dusk that evening, the men at 
Fourth Cliff Station (a few miles to the 
south) had sighted a large brig close-hauled 
and struggling northward under storm 
sails. The blinding storm had apparently 
prevented those on board from seeing how 
perilously near they were to land, but they 
soon after discovered their danger, for 
more sail was clapped on the vessel — much 
more than she could safely carry — and she 
tore through the water at a great rate, in 
a desperate endeavor to drive past the out- 
lying rocks and shoals off Scituate and 
Cohasset. The attempt might have suc- 
ceeded had it not been for the fearful lee- 
way the craft was making, but it seemed 
as though every cable’s length she ad- 
vanced brought her perceptibly nearer to 
the beach. 

Night soon hid the brig from view, but 
the keeper’s experience told him that her 
fate was sealed, and he burned red rockets 


The Life-Savers. 1 1 

to warn the adjacent station to be on the 
lookout for the wreck which must soon 
take place. Thus it was that Captain 
Litchfield and his crew had been for sev- 
eral hours in momentary expectation of a 
summons to save human life. Half way 
between the two stations a rocky point 
jutted out into the water, and here it was 
that both keepers expected the brig to 
strike; but by an extraordinary exhibition 
of pluck and good seamanship, she cleared 
this danger. 

As the minutes passed, the crowd of 
half-frozen villagers on the beach concluded 
that the vessel had managed to escape to 
the open sea, and began to realize that 
their limbs were cold and numb. The 
greater part betook themselves to their 
cottages; mayhap to listen to some har- 
rowing tale of shipwreck and death from 
the lips of an octogenarian smoking his 
pipe in the chimney corner, while drift- 
wood snapped and blazed upon the fire, 
and the housewife heated over the rem- 
nants of a chowder with which to cheer 
the stomachs of the returned watchers, ere 


12 


7 he Life-Savers. 


they sought the doubtful warmth of their 
bed rooms. 

But the station crew redoubled their 
vigilance. They well knew the brig could 
not tack in that furious gale, and there 
was not room to wear, without taking 
ground; — 

The signal! 

A patrolman on the northern beat had 
suddenly ignited his Coston light — the 
red emblem which both tells the watchful 
keeper that a wreck has been sighted, and 
assures the crew of the unfortunate vessel 
that succor is at hand. 

The surfmen and patrolmen passed the 
signal along the beats and hurried to the 
station, each to perform his allotted part 
in the work of rescue. The keeper burned 
a rocket to inform the Fourth Cliff crew. 
It was answered almost simultaneously by 
a distant patrolman with his handlight, 
and by a white rocket sent up from Fourth 
Cliff; the crew and apparatus from that 
point would soon be hurrying to the scene 
of the wreck. 

The patrolman who gave the alarm had 


The Life-Savers . 


J 3 


sighted the brig just before she went 
aground. She was then headed directly 
for the beach, bows on, her captain evi- 
dently realizing that escape was impossible, 
and that his only chance lay in getting the 
craft near the shore. The tide was high, 
and she had taken ground scarcely a quar- 
ter of a mile from the beach, and almost 
directly in front of the station. Immedi- 
ately after striking, she had swung around 
broadside on, and now the dim outline of 
her canvas and rigging could be faintly 
distinguished through the storm. 

In the station all was excitement and 
action, but there was no confusion. Within 
a few moments of the time the wreck had 
been sighted, the keeper issued the first 
order: “Open boat-room doors — man the 
beach-cart!” 

Laden with the life-saving apparatus, 
and drawn by six surfmen, the cart was 
hauled out of the station and over the 
loose, yielding stones that lay between it 
and the ocean. The wide tires prevented 
the vehicle from sinking among the stones 
and rendered the task not difficult, The 


H 


The Life-Savers. 


tremendous surf booming in made it im- 
possible to launch the life-boat, and it was 
through the medium of the breeches buoy 
that the brig’s crew were to be rescued. 

Bad news travels swiftly, and a rapidly 
increasing knot of men, boys, and even a 
few women was already assembled, many 
of whom offered assistance, while one or 
two did not hesitate to give advice. The 
keeper directed them to procure dry wood 
from the station and start a bonfire, which 
they did with alacrity, the flames soon 
crackling merrily. 

The cart having been halted, the crew 
proceeded to unload it, and while Captain 
Litchfield placed the gun in position, the 
others buried the sand-anchor, prepared the 
shot-line box, set the crotch in the proper 
place, and performed other duties of im- 
portance. Everything about the stranded 
vessel was dark and silent. She displayed 
no mast-head lantern or any light what- 
ever, her crew having probably taken to 
the rigging as soon as she struck to avoid 
being washed overboard. The fierce gale 
cut the faces and blinded the eyes of the 


The Life-Savers. 15 

life-savers when they attempted to look 
towards the wreck, but the keeper con- 
trived to train the gun and raise it to the 
proper elevation for firing. All things be- 
ing ready, he gave the lanyard a sharp 
pull. There was a report, a puff of smoke, 
and away sped the metal cylinder into the 
blackness, with the shot-line attached. 

A few minutes passed, during which 
some of the crew had a chance to warm 
their numb fingers at the fire. The direc- 
tion of the wind was favorable, and the 
keeper had strong hopes of getting that 
first line over the vessel. But there was 
no pull upon it — nothing to show that those 
on the wreck had seen it. And yet it had 
certainly fallen on the brig, for all attempts 
by those on shore to withdraw it were fu- 
tile. Perhaps the unfortunate crew knew 
the line was on deck, but were unable to 
reach it without being washed away; per- 
haps they were too thoroughly chilled to 
make any exertion in their own behalf, 
although this seemed scarcely possible in 
view of the short time the vessel had been 
aground. But at any rate they failed to 


1 6 


The Life-Savers. 


secure the line, and in trying to haul it 
back on shore it parted somewhere off in 
the darkness. 

The operation had to be repeated, and 
a second shot was fired as quickly as the 
apparatus could be made ready. This 
was a complete failure, for it did not go 
over the brig at all. The third attempt 
promised to be crowned with success, for 
the line not only fell upon the vessel, but 
came within reach of the beleagured crew 
— a fact that was soon made apparent by 
a decided pull upon it. It was the first 
evidence of life upon the wreck, and sent 
a thrill through the breasts of the rescuers. 

Number One had just bent the shot-line 
around the whip, and the keeper was about 
to signal the wreck to haul off, when the 
line again parted. This was a keen dis- 
appointment, for precious moments must 
be consumed in preparing the apparatus 
for another shot; and evidence was not 
lacking to show that the seas were mak- 
ing a clean breach over the wreck, sweep- 
ing her decks of everything movable. A 
small boat, one end in splinters, was flung 














































* 






























































The Life-Savers at Work. 




The Life-Savers. 


7 


upon the beach almost at the foot of the 
rescuers; in the edge of the surf was some- 
thing that resembled a hen-coop; one of 
the villagers discovered a flight of steps 
and several planks a little to the right of 
the station ; and other familiar objects were 
rapidly coming ashore. 

The fourth shot proved successful, and 
after the brig’s crew secured the line, the 
whip was attached to it and those on the 
wreck hauled off until the whip was within 
their reach. The two surfmen tending the 
shore ends soon felt several pulls, which 
they interpreted as a signal that the tail- 
block had been made fast on the brio\ 

o 

Now the lee part of the whip was bent on 
to the hawser close to the tally-board , 1 and 
while one man saw that it did not foul the 
hawser, others manned the weather whip 
and thus hauled the hawser off to the 
wreck. The breeches buoy block 2 was 

1. A smooth piece of wood painted black and varnished. 
On one side are directions in English telling those on 
a wreck where and how to secure the hawser and tail- 
block. On the reverse side the same directions are 
printed in French. 

2. A running block, in which the breeches buoy travels 
upon the hawser between the wreck and the shore, 


8 


The Life-Savers. 


next attached, after which operations were 
suspended until a signal should be received 
from the stranded vessel that the hawser 
had been made fast to one of the masts. 

The length of time that the brig’s crew 
required to perform this ordinarily simple 
act told the life-savers, as plainly as words 
could have done, how greatly they were 
exhausted by their two hours’ exposure to 
the bitter wind and icy spray. Their 
stiffened fingers at length gave the signal, 
and the station crew quickly hauled in the 
slack of the hawser. The crotch was 
now raised, which had the effect of ele- 
vating the hawser above the surface of 
the ocean sufficiently for the breeches 
buoy to travel upon it without touching 
the water. All was ready, and the keeper 
ordered: “Man lee whip — haul off!” 

As the buoy slid easily along the hawser 
and vanished in the darkness towards the 
wreck, the pent-up feelings of the villagers 
burst forth. The boys yelled, shouted 
hurrahs, and danced like sprites about the 
fire, upon which they flung more drift- 
wood. Men and women pressed closer 


The Life-Savers. 


l 9 


about the keeper and his assistants, shad- 
ing their eyes with their hands, as they 
strove to follow the course of the buoy. 
Lips moved and limbs trembled, but as 
much from excitement as from cold. 

At this juncture the Fourth Cliff crew 
arrived, having toiled for two hours 
through snow-drifts, and over loose stones, 
with their heavy apparatus. It had been 
found impossible to obtain horses in the 
neighborhood without great delay, and the 
men were thus compelled to set out with- 
out them. The major part of the work of 
rescue was already done, allowing the 
half-frozen crew time to warm themselves 
at the fire, where the} T held themselves in 
readiness to render instant service. 

The signal from the brig having been 
given, Captain Litchfield commanded: 
“Man weather whip — haul ashore!” The 
men hauled in the whip with a will, while 
the villagers, eager to get a glimpse of the 
approaching buoy and its human freight, 
crowded about until the keeper was com- 
pelled to order them back. 


20 


The Life-Savers . 


Now the poor fellow was visible! Just 
as he neared the edge of the surf, a huge 
comber about to break reared its foaming 
crest and buried hawser, buoy and man in 
a cloud of spray, as though making a last 
attempt to seize its intended victim. When 
the buoy emerged and was drawn up to 
the crotch, the keeper and Number Seven 
stepped forward and helped the rescued 
seaman out. The buoy was then hurried 
back to the wreck, while its drenched oc- 
cupant was turned over to the Fourth Cliff 
crew, who took him to the station. 

He was a large man, and evidently a 
Scandinavian, but seemed exhausted or 
stunned to such an extent that little in- 
formation could be obtained from him, ex- 
cept that there were seven men still on the 
wreck. His wet clothes were removed, 
and after a good rubbing, he was placed 
in one of the snowy beds in the upper 
story of the station. Here in a large, 
pleasant room, stood a number of single 
iron bedsteads with heads to the wall — 
one for each of the crew, besides a few 
extra in case of emergency. In this haven 


The Life-Savers . 


21 


of rest the sailor fell into a deep sleep, 
heedless of the storm and cold without. 

The next man landed proved to be the 
mate — a small, wiry fellow, who bore his 
sufferings well. He thanked the keeper 
and surfman who helped him out of the 
buoy and stamped upon the wet sand as 
though enjoying the sensation of having 
something firm beneath his feet. His 
hands were stiff from clinging to the rigg- 
ing, and were almost useless from the ac 
tion of the bitter wind and freezing water. 
But he picked up fast, and after borrowing 
a dry suit of clothes and an overcoat, in- 
sisted on returning to the beach. 

He reported the vessel to be the Huron , 
a 400-ton brig, bound from Porto Rico to 
Boston, with molasses. The weather had 
been thick, and though for two days they 
had had no observation, the captain be- 
lieved himself a good distance from the 
coast. When land was sighted on the 
port bow, they shook out more sail and 
tried to drive past; but all efforts to keep 
the brig off shore were futile, and seeing 
that she must soon strike, the captain 


22 


The Life-Savers. 


headed her for the beach at full speed. 
The mate reported the wreck to be break- 
ing up rapidly, but thought she might hold 
together until all had been saved. 

The cook and three more seamen had 
been landed meanwhile, leaving only the 
captain and a Spanish sailor on the stranded 
vessel. The buoy had just started on its 
seventh trip to the brig, when those tend- 
ing the whip noticed something wrong. 
The hawser suddenly slackened to such an 
extent as to allow the buoy to touch the 
water. A second more, and the great 
rope which had bridged the chasm between 
the brig and the shore became perfectly 
limp, and fell into the ocean! A groan 
broke from the throng upon the beach as 
they realized the extent of this misfortune. 
The mast which upheld the two remaining 
castaways — the mast to which the hawser 
was secured, had fallen! All communica- 
tion between the wreck and the shore was 
effectually cut off. Even at that moment 
the two unfortunates were being buffeted 
about in the freezing water, unless they 


The Life-Savers . 23 

had been killed or rendered unconscious 
by the falling spars. 

Both men had on life-preservers, which 
gave them a slight chance for their lives. 
The chance was indeed a frail one, but it 
was all there was left — the poor fellows 
might possibly be thrown upon the beach 
before life was extinct. 

Both station crews and dozens of volun- 
teers were marshalled into line and sta- 
tioned along the edge of the surf, ready to 
grasp the bodies should they come within 
reach. Wreckage was coming ashore 
rapidly; and alive or dead, the keeper felt 
certain that the brig’s captain and his 
companion would soon appear in the 
breakers. 

Scarce fifteen minutes passed before 
two surfmen in close proximity flashed 
their lanterns, and all those near by hur- 
ried to the spot. One of the bodies was 
in sight close to the shore. As the res- 
cuers prepared to wade in, a breaking 
wave took up the limp form and hurled it 
down with terrific force, at the same time 
carrying it towards shore. The receding 


H 


The Life-Savers. 


water drew the body back a short dis- 
tance, and then left it upon the sand. 
Willing hands took up the burden and 
hurried it to the station, A glance showed 
it to be the captain. 

The other body was discovered by the 
Fourth Cliff keeper, a considerable dis- 
tance down the beach to the right of the 
station. It, too, was floating near shore. 
Six men ranged themselves along a rope, 
the keeper being at the outer end with a 
grappling hook. Thus they waded into 
the surf and endeavored to catch the bod}’. 
Four successive times were those furthest 
out carried off their feet and thrown down 
in the water before their object was ac- 
complished, and the body drawn out of 
the breakers. Like that of the captain, it 
was seemingly lifeless. 

The men’s clothing was ripped off, and 
for several hours the crews worked over 
them, skilfully practicing the most ap- 
proved methods for restoring the appar- 
ently drowned, — methods by which scores 
of people seemingly dead have been resus 
citated, and in which all persons connected 


The Life-Savers. 


*5 


with the United States Life-Saving Ser- 
vice are required to be proficient. Every 
means approved by science and the wide 
experience of the operators was tried, but 
all to no purpose. The vital spark was 
extinguished; the captain of the brig and 
the Spanish sailor had drawn their last 
breath. 

Next morning the sky was clear, the 
snow had ceased, the wind shifted into the 
north-west, and it was stinging cold. The 
sea had been busy with its work of des- 
truction during the hours of darkness, and 
the staunch brig of yesterday was strewn 
piece-meal along the beach. Stout oak 
beams and iron girders were splintered, 
twisted, or rent asunder, while the thick 
coat of ice with which they were covered, 
caused them to assume strangely fantastic 
shapes. The two masts had come ashore; 
mattresses, provisions of all sorts, boxes, 
rigging, the cabin floor, and countless 
casks of molasses, lay scattered upon the 
beach for leagues in both directions. 

Many vessels ended their careers on that 
terrible night, and many lives were lost, 


—3 


2 6 


The Life-Savers. 


from the Delaware Capes to the shores 
of Nova Scotia. But scores were saved 
and alive next morning, who, but for the 
heroic exertions of the government life- 
savers, would have perished miserably. 
These men did only their duty, but in many 
cases that duty compelled them to take 
their lives in their hands, and they did it 
without shrinking. 

People all over the country read in the 
papers that morning of wrecks b} 7 the 
dozen; of deaths innumerable from freez- 
ing, drowning, and exposure; of terrible 
hardships endured for many hours by un- 
fortunates whom human aid was powerless 
to save; and they said, “What an awful 
night it was!” Then they turned to their 
usual occupations, and the subject was 
forgotten. How should those who spent 
the night in a warm bed, far from the 
sound of the waves, have any real concep- 
tion of the fearful struggles with death 
represented by those inanimate lines? 


tF$IS3@i 



Many years ago I 
was mate of the little 
schooner Dicky Bird . 
She traded mostly be- 
tween the West Indies and Gulf ports, 
once in a while getting a charter for some 
point in Central America. On this par- 
ticular voyage, she was bound across the 
Gulf from Pensacola to Vera Cruz. 

We were a queer company; three whites 
and eight blacks. Cap’n Thomas Pratt 
was a first rate seaman when he wasn’t in 
liquor, although too easy-going to suit 
some people. He didn’t believe in knock- 
ing the hands about, and always said that 
swearing at ’em did just as much good. I 
have met some people who didn’t think 


28 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


even that was right, but they were mostly 
preachers or lubbers who knew mighty 
little of merchant sailors. Let them try 
moral suasion on a mule for a while if 
they want to see how it works with a 
sailor. If you never swear at ’em, they 
get lazy and despise you, besides thinking 
you a milk-sop. 

But as I said, Cap’n Pratt took a drop 
too much now and then; mostly after din- 
ner, for he kept pretty straight until the 
sun was taken. I’m no teetotlar myself, 
though I was green enough to sign the 
pledge before I’d got to what they call 
“the age of reason.” Still, it goes against 
my idees for a skipper to drink much when 
on duty, and if Pratt hadn’t owned his 
schooner, I reckon he’d lost his berth long 
before I knew him. After working out 
his sights he used to take a drink by way 
of celebration in case the day’s run had 
been good, and if we’d made a poor rec- 
ord he just took something to drown his 
sorrows — and sometimes it needed a deal 
of liquor to drown ’em. 

There was no second mate, so the Cap’n 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bi?-d. 


2 9 


and me stood watch and watch. We had 
a negro bo’s’un called Prince Saunders — a 
strapping big fellow as black as the ace of 
spades — who was on duty all day from 
seven in the morning till six at night. 
Then he turned in till next day, unless all 
hands were called. Prince acted as gen- 
eral overseer, and the way he made those 
darkeys come to time wasn’t slow. In 
fact, I wouldn’t ask for a better bo’s’un or 
a better crew. All the Cap’n and me had 
to do was to lay out the day’s work and 
Prince saw that it was done. 

The three fellows in my watch looked 
exactly alike — I never could tell one negro 
from another — so I called ’em Sunday, 
Monday and Tuesday. I forgot what 
Pratt named his. 

Steamers were scarce in the Gulf those 
days, and people wanting to go any dis- 
tance had to take passage on whatever 
craft they could find, which was how we 
came to have the Honorable Mr. Warriner 
for a passenger. I couldn’t see as he had 
any more honor than lots of other people, 
but all of his mail was addressed that way, 


30 


Thanksgiving o?i the Dicky Bird. 


and Pratt said it was a kind of title they 
have on shore. He was a red faced, pomp- 
ous old duck, with too much corporation, 
and looked as much out of place on the 
deck of that little schooner as I would 
scraping before Queen Victoria. Every 
time we had a squall he got almighty sick, 
and when a good hot day came how he did 
sweat and mop his face I I really pitied 
him. 

Once he said to me: “Mr. Hunt, I 
would give any reasonable amount to be 
as slender as you are.” 

“We thin chaps certainly have the ad- 
vantage in the tropics, Mr. Warriner; and 
ever since I was seventeen, and had the 
yellow fever at Rio, there ain’t been any 
more meat on me than there is on a starved 
horse,” I answered. 

I had no call to feel flattered, but I was, 
just the same, for Pratt sometimes poked 
fun at me for being so d — d lean; and 
didn’t I find a picture drawn on the bul- 
warks forward of an oar with clothes on 
that looked kind of like me? If I could 
have found out which of those black sons 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


3 1 


of Belial did it, he would have caught a 
whaling, you bet! 

We had a cook who also waited off at 
table, — a steward was too much luxury 
for the Dicky Bird , — and of all the in- 
fernal liars that ever lived, I believe that 
Cornwallis Tecumseh Jones was the worst. 
He knew his business pretty well, and 
could turn a flap-jack by throwing it up in 
the air from one window of the galley, and 
catching it as it came down by the win- 
dow on the opposite side. 1 

The passenger, Pratt and me were talk- 
ing of various things one afternoon when 
Warriner said: “Captain, to-morrow will 
be Thanksgiving, and I propose that we 
observe the day by having some appro- 
priate dish for dinner. Turkey and pump- 
kin pie are out of the question, so what do 
you say to an English plum-pudding?” 

“Anything, sir; anything to keep the 
peace. Plum-pudding or pear-pudding, 
Thanksgiving or lobscouse.” 

i. An expression often heard at sea, which means that 
there is not sufficient room inside the galley to turn a 
pan-cake. It is a joke, of course, but gives a fair idea of 
the exceeding smallness of the cook’s domain on many 
brigs and schooners of light tonnage. 


3 2 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


(Pratt was about half heeled over, as 
usual with him that time of day.) 

“ Lobscouse ! Captain Pratt, I will thank 
you not to mention that abominable mix- 
ture in my presence. It passes my com- 
prehension how you can eat such stuff. 
Neither do I like this flippant reference to 
so august a day as Thanksgiving. 

u But a plum-pudding will be excellent 
— that is, if you think that darkey won’t 
ruin it in the making. I have a splendid 
recipe in my trunk, and although some of 
the necessary ingredients are probably 
lacking, it will be possible to produce a 
very fair pudding.” 

“ Let’s have it,” said I. “Anything for 
a change is my sentiments.” 

“Darkeys usually have quite a knack 
for cooking, and I suppose if the recipe is 
placed before Cornwallis he will do the 
subject justice. I will get it at once.” 

“The Lord only knows, Mr. Warriner. 
Did you ever hear a certain proverb that 
is common at sea: ‘God sends meat and 
the devil sends cooks?’ It’s astonishing 
how good provisions can be changed into 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird . 


all sorts of queer shapes. But get your 
directions and take them to the galley. 
The black imp may surprise us.” 

Pratt went below, and soon after, War- 
riner and me went forward with the direc- 
tions for the pudding. He told the cook 
what was wanted and then read off the 
recipe, so as to be sure and have no mis- 
take. Never did I hear of such a lot of 
truck being put together, and I don’t be- 
lieve the cook did either, for his eyes got 
bigger and bigger as Warriner read the 
list of what he called “ingredients.” My! 
that pudding took some of everything. 
There was raisins, currants, brown sugar, 
beef-suet, flour, bread-crumbs, citron, can- 
died lemon-peel, eggs, nutmeg and salt! 
“Boil seven hours in a buttered mould. 
A sprig of holly should be stuck in the 
center. Pour brandy around the pudding 
when ready to serve, and set it on fire.” 
Holy Moses! Then there was a sauce with 
brandy and other things in it. 

The cook sat down on a bench and 
looked at Warriner. 

“Golly! you done took my bref away, 


34 Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


boss. Bile seben hour! Whar we gwine 
to git dese yere tings? I ’low dere ain’t 
no brandy on dis craf’, an’ as fur ten eggs 
— waal, de hens is completely gi’n out, 
eben ef I does feed ’em on de Champyun 
Egg Food.” 

“ How should the poor things lay, shut 
up in a small coop? But as for the brandy, 
I will furnish that, and also some nice 
layer raisins. Currants, lemon-peel and 
citron we must do without, but ten eggs 
are a necessity, and the other things you 
have.” 

“ We has jes’ got ’leben eggs, an’ ef yo ’ 
takes ten from ’leben, dar ain’t but bery 
few lef ’. Where we gwine to get moah?” 

“I neither know nor care, — we shall 
reach Vera Cruz sometime I devoutly 
hope, — but ten eggs go into this pudding. 
The question is, can you make it?” 

“ Can I make it P” repeated the cook, as 
if someone had asked him whether he 
could breathe. “Waal, sah, dere ain’t no 
dish knowed to man or debil dat dis chile 
can’t make, Mistah Warmer. Must I bile 
de sass seben hour too?” 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 35 


“ Certainly not. The sauce must not be 
made until to-morrow morning just before 
dinner, and is only to be boiled a few min- 
utes. Can’t you read?” 

u Me read? Well, I hope not, boss. Vs 
got all my receipts in my head. None o’ 
yo’ new-fangled notions fur dis niggah.” 

I had to laugh, poor Warriner looked 
so disgusted. He just all gave up for a 
minute and thought the pudding was done 
for. Then he stamped his foot and said: 

“I am not to be thwarted by trifles, and 
will weigh out everything myself. Then 
you can mix the articles together.” 

Warriner fetched the raisins and brandy 
— if he’d been smart he wouldn’t have 
brought the brandy till the last minute — 
and between ’em they managed to mix up 
all the truck and get it in the mould. It 
was about the middle of the afternoon 
when they got it on to boil. 

Next day was fine, and Warriner was 
up before we finished washing down the 
decks. Pratt and me were curious about 
the plum-pudding, for we'd never seen one, 
and wanted to know what sort of idees the 


36 Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


passenger had about cookery. He kept 
telling all the morning what fine ones his 
wife used to make, and said he’d show us 
a thing or two. 

We sat down to dinner — our Thanks- 
giving dinner. The Honorable looked 
more self-satisfied and important than 
usual, I thought; Cap’n Pratt was real 
good-natured and told a lot of lies that 
Warriner swallowed like an albacore does 
a flying-fish; I had scraped my face with 
an old hoe of a razor and put on a necktie; 
and Cornwallis stood in the pantry door 
behind Pratt with a white cap over his 
wool, and looking as solemn as a judge. 

He did well that day, and we had a first 
rate dinner. There was vegetable soup; 
chicken, rice and curry with Ceylon chut- 
ney; potatoes; boiled onions; lime-juice; 
and each a cold whiskey punch. At last 
it was time for the dessert. Cornwallis 
took away the things, while Warriner told 
us how much we had to be thankful for, 
and how he and the cook had worked to 
make the pudding a success. 


It was stuck full of long feathers! 







turn 








?M: v M^iWt W:*': %»& 


...•' • 

: >-y^:^x-;vx:vv.. . 







Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 37 


Well, the minute that pudding hove in 
sight Pratt and me laughed. The middle 
of it was stuck full of long feathers! 

“ Heavens and earth! What are those 
things for?” cried Warriner. 

“Dem is fedders, sah. You tole me dat 
holly was to be stuck up in de middle, but 
dat bush ain’t to be foun’ in dese pahts. I 
done de best I could, Mass’.” 

“Was ever such a thing heard of! And 
are those feathers from the chicken we 
have just eaten?” 

“Laws, no. I done kotched de rooster 
— Golly! how dat ole bird did squawk — 
and I }^anked de fedders out ob his tail. 
Dere dey is, a wavin’ like a flag.” 

Warriner was about to pull the feathers 
out and throw them away, but the Cap’n 
and me rather liked the looks of ’em, so 
he stopped. Then the sauce appeared. 
White of egg beaten stiff was on top of 
it. Next Cornwallis brought a dish and 
turned the brandy around the pudding. 
How awful it smelled! Not a bit like any 
brandy that I ever saw. Warriner looked 
a bit puzzled, but before he had time to 


38 Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 

say a word the cook struck a match and 
touched it to the liquor. 

The whole thing blazed right up to the 
skylight, and scared all hands nearly to 
death! You could have knocked me over 
with a fish-hook, and that darky rolled up 
the whites of his eyes and acted as if he 
was praying. Warriner’s face turned all 
colors, and Pratt was scared and mad both. 
He jerked the cloth and everything off the 
table, took off his coat and threw it on the 
blaze. Then he stamped on it. 

None of us spoke a word for a minute; 
we were clean on our beam ends. Then 
Pratt looked at the passenger and roared 
out: “Well, sir, yon’ve raised h — with 
your pudding, I must say! Like to have 
burned us all up into the bargain. That’s 
what comes of setting brandy on fire. I 
thought when you spoke of it, it was the 
d — dest nonsense to burn up a lot of good 
liquor that might better be drunk.” 

Warriner had found his voice by this 
time. 

“ Captain Thomas Pratt, you forget 
yourself. I am not accustomed to being ad- 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 39 


dressed in that fashion, and you will please 
remember that I am a passenger on this 
craft — this miserable apology for a 
schooner — and did not come here to be 
sworn at!” 

The old boy was on his mettle, and Pratt 
saw it. 

“No offense meant, Mr. Warriner, but 
I insist that your having that brandy set 
on fire was a rash proceeding.” 

“Brandy! That was not brandy. Do 
you suppose I never saw a plum-pudding 
before? If that had been the brandy I gave 
that imp of Satan ” (pointing to the cook) 
“it would never have blazed up like that. 
And what foul odor did we smell when he 
poured the stuff around the pudding? 
What odor do we smell now? Kerosene, 
or I’m no judge.” 

“Kerosene!” echoed the Cap’n. 

I began to think the passenger knew 
what he was talking about. All of us 
smelled oil, and we cast our eyes on Corn- 
wallis. He looked as innocent as a lamb. 

“Gents, dat ain’t possible,” said he, his 
black face shining like polished ebony. 


4 ° 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


‘‘We will see about that,” answered 
Warriner. “Let’s taste the sauce — I’ll 
warrant it’s full of kerosene too.” He 
took some in a spoon and smelled of it be- 
fore putting his tongue to it. 

“Curious,” he muttered, “there is no 
odor of oil or brandy either.” 

Then the old chap tasted it. 

“ This is extraordinary ! There’s nothing 
to this sauce — it has no body. There is 
positively not a drop of brandy in it; nor of 
kerosene, for that matter.” 

“Dat am bery strange, Mass’ Warmer. 
De brandy must ’a’ done ’vaporated.” 

“ Evaporated down your throat, you 
black villain! Captain Pratt, I consider 
this a flagrant outrage. I furnished a 
quantity of good brandy for this pudding, 
not a drop of which has been used. What 
has become of it?” 

“Dat Monday or some ob de han’s might 
’a’ stole it when I wahn’t lookin’,” sug- 
gested the cook. 

Prince, the bo’s’un, was standing out- 
side near the door, and had evidently heard 
part of the confab. He now called out: 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 41 


“Ef you ’lows me, Cap’n, I reckons I 
kin find out de truf in dis argument.” 

“Come in, Prince,” answered Pratt. 
“ If you can get any truth out of Cornwal- 
lis 3'ou’re smarter than I think you are.” 

The cook looked indignant — not so much 
at being called a liar as having the bo Vun 
admitted, — for he and Prince were not on 
good terms, and he considered the bo’s’un’s 
interference a piece of pure impudence. 

Prince entered, cap in hand. I’m toler- 
able tall myself, but he was a good four 
inches above me, and a right good looking 
darkey into the bargain. He walked right 
up to the cook. 

“Walrus Jones, you stole dat gemmen’s 
brandy. You lies ef you says you didn’t.” 

Cornwallis looked at his accuser de- 
fiantly. 

“What yo’ want wid me, niggah? Is 
yo’ lookin’ fur trouble? Go ’long ’bout yo’ 
bizness now, an’ doan’ be cornin’ in de 
cabin whar yo’ betters is. I’s willin’ to 
obey de Cap’n ob dis craf ’, but I tells yo’ 
now dat I won’t take no sass from low- 
down bo’s’uns. Go an’ scar’ de life out 


4 2 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


ob dose pore debils in de crew, fur all I 
keer, but doan’ git gay wid me. Huh! 
Yo’ mus’ tink I’s jes’ turned out!” 

“You awoids de subjek’. Dat am a 
shuah sign ob guilt.” 

“Lemme tell yo’ somfin’, yo ’ onery 
niggah! I doan’ ’sociate wid sech trash as 
yo’ be, what can’t tell who his own fadder 
and mudder was. I come from a hono’ble 
fam’ly what was tole ob in hist’ry. Ef 
yo’ keeps on probokin’ me to wraf I’ll put 
pizen in yo’ wittals, dat’s what I’ll do, an’ 
yo’ now has fair wahnin’!” 

Prince showed signs of wrath himself at 
this speech, but Pratt interfered before he 
could answer. 

“No more talk about poisoning people, 
Cornwallis. Answer me this: Where did 
that brandy go to?” 

“Efit didn’t go in dat sass an’ aroun’ 
dat puddin’, Cap’n, den I ’lows some ob de 
crew done stole it. Dem critters ain’t to 
be trusted, no how. Cockroaches is bery 
bad in dat galley, too, an’ dey likes sech 
drinks, I hearn tell. Whose to know if 
dey wahn’t at de bottle?” 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


“Why, you black rascal, you said not 
ten minutes ago that the brandy was put 
in the sauce and around the pudding!” 

“So I did, Cap’n. Ef dat ain’t de truf 
an’ nothin’ but de truf, I hopes de good 
Lawd will hab me pah’lized, an’ make me 
fall dead heah in my tracks.” 

“Impious creature! Unworthy descend- 
ant of Ham!” cried Warriner. 

“Me a ham? Me, a linear decen’ant ob 
de great Lawd Cornwahlis, what lan’ed at 
Yohktown an’ chased de Yanks all ober 
de plains ob Ole Virginny? Dat’s de stock 
I come from, Mistah Warmer, an’ so I 
want yo’ to understan’.” 

The cook’s reference to his ancestors as- 
tounded Warriner, though none of the rest 
of us saw anything queer about it. 

“Good heavens! What curse is there 
like ignorance?” said he, looking up at the 
ceiling. 

It was lucky for me that Warriner spoke 
up, for I was just going to show off about 
Lord Cornwallis, and would likely have 
made a fool of myself. My history is a bit 
uncertain; so I stood by and kept mum. 


44 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


Prince had been considering while the 
rest of us talked, and now said: “Cap’n 
Pratt, I would ax you, sah, for de Bible, 
an’ I promises to bring dis sinful critter to 
time, eben ef he does b’long to de quality 
ob Virginny, which he don’t, unless de 
debil hab turned saint.” 

All of us were surprised at this, but 
Pratt went to fetch the book. Prince 
could read large print tolerably well, and 
write a little, which facts he was very 
proud of. His confident air, and the new 
tack he had taken, made the cook a bit 
uneasy for the first time. He had no idee 
what was coming next. 

Pratt beckoned to me from the door of 
his room, and whispered in my ear: “The 
Bible’s mislaid. Hasn’t been used for so 
long it can’t be found. Here’s a book the 
same size, though.” 

“Maybe that’ll do,” said I. “We’ll try, 
anyway.” 

Prince took the volume of Lieut. Maury’s 
sailing directions and said impressively: 
“Now, Mistah Jones, appearances is agin 
you, but dey is bery deceptible, an’ not 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


alwuz to be trusted. You may be inno- 
center den a kitten, which fur y’ur own 
sake, I hopes you is. I has here, gemmen, 
de Good Book, out ob which I will read 
what happens to cooks which steals.” 

Cornwallis looked uneasily from one to 
the other, and at the sacred volume. He 
was ignorant and superstitious, and Prince 
as reader and oracle was much more to be 
feared than Prince the bo’s’un, with all his 
threats and accusations. 

“Dis chile better be gittin’ back to de 
galley an’ washin’ dem dishes. Neber 
will git nothin’ done at dis rate, stan’in’ 
aroun’ an’ talkin’ like a lot o’ wenches at 
a pic-nic/’ 

“Hold on, Cornwallis,” said Pratt, tak- 
ing hold of him as he neared the door. 
“You don’t need to be afraid as long as 
you didn’t get away with the liquor. Stay 
right here and let’s hear how well Prince 
can read.” 

The bo’s’un had been turning over the 
leaves as if searching for something, and 
finally stopped at a page which told the 
route vessels should take when bound from 


4 6 Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


New York to Hong Kong and the Far 
East. Clearing his throat and putting on 
a long face, he read: 

“ Cooks an’ stoords what steals ’taters 
and won’t confess, is boun’ to be set on de 
capstan all night long till dey owns up. 
Nex’ day, dey is to be whitewashed, but ef 
it’s a white pusson, he mus’ be painted black. 

“Dem dat takes sugah is to be made to 
drink bilge-water an’ nothin’ else, an’ is to 
larn to take de sun ebery mawnin’ an’ 
ebenin’- 

“Ef you kotch one stealin’ gin, make a 
rope las’ to him an’ t’ow him oberboard all 
day long. Ef he don’t die de fust day, try 
him ag’in de second. 

“Gittin’ away wid w’isky is bery bad. 
Ef a cook or stoord is foun’ out, he mus’ 
be drove full o’ marling-spikes till he stops 
yellin’, eben ef it done kills him. 

“But ef one steals brandy, — wahl, der 
ain’t nothin’ bad ’nough fur him. Brandy 
is awful hard to make, an’ costs a hun’red 
dollahs a poun’; so ’tain’t no sort o’ use 
foolin’ with one dat steals it. De craf’ 
will sink ef he ain’t took in hand. 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 47 

“Gib de wicked sinnah time to say his 
prayers, an’ den h’ist him up an’ down de 
main stay fou’ times, so his blood circ’lates 
good. Tie a grin’stone roun’ his neck an’ 
heave him oberboard, while all han’s prays 
an’ sings like de bery debil. Ef he sinks 
he’s guilty shuah, an’ ef he floats, haul ’im 
aboard an’ tie more weights on top of ’im. 
Ef he keeps on a floatin’, he’s a innocent 
man, an’ his wages is to be made biggah. 
Heah de chaptah ends.” 

Prince made this up as he went along, 
pronouncing his words with much gravity, 
and it had such an effect on Cornwallis 
that we had all we could do to keep from 
roaring right out. W e had to look solemn, 
though, or he would have smelt a rat. He 
stood with his back against the wall, roll- 
ing up the whites of his eyes and looking 
around in a scared way as if he didn’t 
know whether the whole thing was a joke 
or not. Finally he said: 

“Cap’n Pratt, I axes you , sah, ef what 
dat niggah done read is wrote down in dat 
book, or is I bein’ made a wictim ob what 
dey calls de cu’cumstances?” 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird . 


l * It’s all down in cold type, Cornwallis, 
and now we must put you to the test, so 
as to know if you’re guilty.” 

u What test am dat, sah?” 

“Why, we must hang a grindstone round 
your neck and heave you overboard. If 
you didn’t steal the brandy, you’ll float. 
That’s what the book says.” 

The cook’s jaw dropped, and he fell 
down in a heap. Throwing his arms 
around Pratt’s knees, he gasped: “Does 
yo’ mean dat, Cap’n?” 

Pratt nodded. 

“Oh, fur de good Lawd’s sake, what 
hab dis pore chile done dat he mus’ be kilt 
in cole blood! Ain’t I sarved you, sah, fur 
one, two, six, — wahl, seberal yeahs? An’ 
now is yo’ gwine to let dat blood-thu’sty 
niggah what’s been hankerin’ arter my 
life — is yo’ gwine to let him murdah me?” 

“I feel sorry for you, Cornwallis, — 
d — n me if I don’t, — but there’s no help 
for it. The book says the craft will never 
reach port if the guilty person escapes, so 
it’s a case of your going overboard or all 
of us giving up the ghost.” 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 49 


“ Gents, is der no marcy in yo’ buzums?” 

This piteous appeal was addressed to 
Warriner and me, and the cook looked so 
miserable that I could hardly play my part. 

“No, you must prepare for the ordeal,” 
said Warriner, “and if you have told the 
truth you will surely float/’ 

“What, an’ a grin’stone made fas’ to 
me?” 

“Certainly.” 

“Oh, Mass’ Warmer, I’s not ready to 
die; ’deed I’s not. I’s been powe’ful 
wicked in my time, an’ dem kin’ o’ people 
has to jine de chu’ch an’ hab r’ligion ’fore 
deh heahs de trumpet blow.” 

“No more fooling. Prince, you bring 
aft the grindstone that the crew sharpen 
their knives on. Hunt, you get the fog- 
horn and blow like h — when we heave 
him overboard. The d — d thing makes 
more noise than any trumpet I ever heard.” 

“Yes,” added Warriner, “It may com- 
fort the condemned.” 

When we got back with the horn and 
grindstone, Cornwallis was jumping up and 
down and yelling like a maniac. 


50 Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


“Ps de culprit! Ps de culprit! Ps de 
culprit! An’ ef yo ’ drap me overboard 
dat’s why Ps boun’ to sink! Only lemme 
lib till we reaches dry lan’ an’ Pll go into 
one ob dem conbents whar dey is said to 
be dead to de worl’, an’ I won’t nebber see 
none ob yo’ no moah.” 

“The sinner owns up,” cried Pratt, and 
Prince grinned till every one of his ivories 
showed. 

“Now, Cornwallis, your life will be spared 
on condition that you make a clean breast 
of this matter. No more lies; and you 
must pay for the brandy you drank at the 
rate of one hundred dollars a gallon — 
wasn’t that it, Prince?” 

“A hun’red dollahs a poun’, sah,” cor- 
rected Prince. 

“I doan know how many poun’ I drank,” 
sniffed the cook, “ an’ ef I has to pay dat 
much fur each one ob ’em, Ps got to wo’k 
more’n a year fur nothin’.” 

“That’s better than being drowned to- 
day,” said I, “and you’d better be thank- 
ful. Now tell us how you took -the 
brandy.” 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird . 51 

“Ps been close to cle dahk riber, gents, 
an’ will perceed to tell de truf,” said Corn- 
wallis, now much relieved after his narrow 
escape. He looked down at the floor and 
began in a low tone: 

“Yo’ see, it was jes’ dis way. Mass’ 
Warmer, he done brung de brandy an’ 
say, k Put some ob dat in de sass an’ some 
roun’ de puddin’.’ De las’ was to be sot 
on fire soon as ’twas on de table. 

“ Wahl, I was stan’in’ lookin’ at de bot- 
tle when I heerd a noise. I turn roun’, an’ 
as shuah as I lib, ef de debil wahn’t right 
’side ob me! Oh, he looked orful, an’ I 
like to died from de shock ob seein’ him. 
Ef yo’ wants to know what he looks like, 
jes’ take a good look at dat Prince Sahn- 
ders, fur ef him an’ de debil ain’t brudders 
Pm a cod-fish! 

“ I says, ‘ Debil, go ’way. I doan want 
no trouble wid you.’ But he gib me a 
push towa’ds de bottle, and says, reel soft- 
like, ‘Yo’ pore, mis’able, skinny, ober- 
wo’ked critter, you’s all fadin’ away.’ 
(Cornwallis weighed at least two hun- 
dred.) ‘ Dere ain’t nothin’ lef’ ob yo’ but 


52 Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


skin an’ bone. Jes’ take a drap ob dat 
liquor, an’ it mought do lots ob good. 
You’s gittin’ ole, and needs some stimi- 
lant.’ 

“I knowed it was de gospel truf, yo’ 
understan’, but at de same time it wahn’t 
right, an’ I tried to put ole Nick out ob de 
galley. He wahr bigger den me, an’ jes’ 
made me drink dat brandy till de bottle 
looked a ’most empty. ’Deed I tried to git 
him out, but ’twan’t no use, an’ ebery drap 
ob dat liquor done wanished ’fore he quit 
pesterin’ me. I’d had a misery in my head 
de hull mawnin’, but I felt right pert arter 
de brandy was gone. I sot down to re- 
flec’ a spell. 

“ ‘Now,’ I says, ‘ef de brandy was to be 
sot lire to an’ burned up, it am plain dat it 
can’t be drank.’ I ’lowed dat keerosene 
ansahs de pu’pose jes’ as well, so I puts it 
roun’ de puddin’. Golly! how dat ile did 
burn! I was real dis’pinted ’bout de sass, 
fur I reckoned dat ile mought pizen yo’. 
So I lef ’ it out, an’ hoped dat fak’ would 
’scape de company’s obserbation. 

“ I’s spoke de truf, yo’ understan’, an’ is 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


resolbed to die ’fore I eber agin disto’ts de 
fak’s.” 

We all laughed till we nearly parted our 
braces, especially Warriner. I wouldn’t 
have believed he had so much humor. 

The passenger pulled away the table- 
cloth and the smashed crockery till he 
sighted the pudding. What with the 
smell of oil and burned feathers, and be- 
ing all scorched up and stepped on, it 
wasn’t a very fine sight by this time. 

“ Did any of you ever read 1 Great Ex- 
pectations? ’ ” he asked. 

None of us had. 

“ It tells of a certain lady called Miss 
Havisham, who expected to be married 
one evening. The wedding supper was 
spread and everything ready, but the 
bridegroom never came. For years and 
years after did Miss Havisham keep that 
feast untouched in the deserted room — 
kept it until spiders spun webs over it, and 
mice and damp played havoc with the 
faded yellow cloth and the viands. Some- 
times a boy named Pip would pay her a 
visit, and then the wax tapers would be 


54 Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 


lighted, while the strange pair walked 
round and round the deca}'ing feast. 

“ Even so, my friends, should I preserve 
this pudding and enthrone it in my Brook- 
lyn home to remind me of my lost brandy 
and of this most extraordinary Thanksgiv- 
ing. But that is impossible, so follow me.” 

He picked the pudding up from the floor 
and held it out at arm’s length, at the same 
time leading the way out on deck. Sun- 
day and Tuesday, Flip and Jackson and 
all the crew forgot what they were about 
at sight of the queer procession, and War- 
riner holding out the pudding. He marched 
over to the lee bulwarks, got on top of an 
empty box, and began to look at the pud- 
ding with a very sorrowful expression, his 
eyes blinking and his head on one side. 

“ What the devil is he about? ” thinks I. 

He looked around at us and wiped his 
eyes with a silk handkerchief; then held 
out the blasted pudding in both hands so 
all of us could see it. 

“ Gentlemen, behold! This was a plum- 
pudding. Yea, thou dark and sodden 
mass, pierced with feathers and baptized 


Thanksgiving on the Dicky Bird. 55 


in kerosene; — thou culinary triumph, con- 
cocted by Samuel Warriner and the de- 
scendant of Lord Cornwallis; — thou fond 
inspiration of our brain, which, owing to 
the combined assaults of Satan and yon 
sable African, hast so abominably miscar- 
ried; — we bid thee an eternal farewell!” 

“Good G — , if he ain’t blubbering!” 
whispered Pratt, while Warriner looked 
so affected that Prince, Cornwallis and me 
nearly cried. 

“ Good-by, pudding. Go-od-b-bye,” 
(heaving it overboard) “ and be thou food 
for worms — I should say, fishes!” 

Away it went, and struck the water 
with a splash. All hands stared until it 
sunk, and then we looked at Warriner. 

He had taken up the fog-horn, and just 
as the pudding went under, he blew a 
mournful blast. 

“ May the dear departed rest in peace,” 
he said, feelingly. 

Then we all pulled ourselves together 
and went back to work. 































•* 

* 

« 

* 

i ? 











































































. 

















































Alice and I were 
seated at the break- 
fast-table in our ram- 


bling old house on the 


outskirts of the French quarter in New 
Orleans. She was glancing over the Pica- 
yune , while 1 was wrapped in deep thought 
concerning the most vivid and remarkable 
dream I had ever had, — the strangest part 
being that it was about a place I had never 
seen or even heard of. 

My sister, who had never married, was 
ten years my junior, and after my wife’s 
death, Alice had accepted my invitation 
to take charge of my household. We 
lived a retired life, with no one else in the 
big house but a maid-servant and old 


-s 


58 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


black Bilbo, a trusted domestic, who had 
been a slave in our family during the hal- 
cyon days before the war. 

“Alice,” said I, suddenly, “I have con- 
cluded to take Dr. Antoine’s advice, and 
go off on a sea voyage. You remember 
the last time he prescribed for me, he said 
my poor health was simply the result of 
overwork and too close attention to busi- 
ness, and that a long voyage would benefit 
me more than anything else.” 

My sister laid aside her paper, both sur- 
prised and pleased. 

“ How glad I am, George, that you at 
last see the necessity of it. Where shall 
you go?” 

“Well, according to my dream of the 
last two nights, my destination will be 
latitude 3 0 50' 30" South, longitude 32 0 24' 
30" West.’* 

Alice stared at me as though she doubt- 
ed my sanity, while I folded my arms, 
nodded my head, and tried not to look 
foolish. 

I waited a moment, thinking she would 
speak, and then continued: “Yes, I know 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


59 


you will say that a man forty-three years 
old ought to know better, especially so 
prosaic a one as you often say I am. But 
let me tell you my vision, and then ridi- 
cule it if you can. 

“Night before last I slept unusually well, 
and was conscious of nothing until I heard 
a clock somewhere strike four. I dozed 
off soon after, and had this dream: 

“I was seated alone in the stern of a 
little boat, that floated on a calm and 
gently-heaving moonlit sea; while close 
on my right hand was a small, densely 
wooded island, with phosphorescent waves 
breaking upon its sandy beach. Behind 
it, and belonging seemingly to another 
body of land, a lofty peak towered into 
the air. 

“ The silvery white light fell upon a 
stately palm that grew near a large rock 
on the islet, and upon two figures, one of 
whom, in military uniform, leaned against 
the trunk, while the other carefully 
smoothed over the ground at the base of 
the tree. Then the former glided to the 
rock and wrote or scratched something 


6o 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


upon it, but though I looked and looked, I 
saw no words, nor could I get even the 
smallest view of the faces of the two men, 
although their figures were perfectly plain. 

“While striving to see their features, I 
became sensible of a veil of mist envelop- 
ing both land and sea, and when it passed, 
island and peak were gone. In their stead 
was a gigantic blackboard rising out of 
the ocean, with these characters upon it, 
in figures and letters so large that they 
terrified me: 


| 3 ° 5 °' 3 °" s - 

32 0 24' 30" w. 

“As I looked, the great object seemed 
to advance upon me — I should be annihil- 
ated! I tried to grasp an oar in the bot- 
tom of the boat, but could not move a 
muscle. On it came, rapidly, noiselessly. 
At the instant it was upon me, I made a 
frantic lunge and found myself sitting up 
in bed, drenched in perspiration, and my 
heart beating so I could hardly breathe. 

“On realizing where I was, I got up, 



My Brazilian Adventure. 


6 1 


struck a match, and looked at my watch. 
A quarter past four! All that had hap- 
pened since I heard the clock strike fifteen 
minutes before. 

“I said nothing to you yesterday, Alice, 
but now you know why I have been so pre- 
occupied. Again last night I had the same 
dream.” 

My sister said little, except to advise 
me to dismiss the whole subject from my 
mind, but I could see that it had made 
more of an impression on her than she 
chose to admit. 

I had already consulted the atlas in re- 
gard to the spot of which I had dreamed, 
and found it to be an island with an un- 
pronouncable name, lying near the coast 
of Brazil. 

That night I wrote to my nephew Ralph 
at New York, telling him that I had de- 
cided to take a sea voyage, and asking 
him what was the best way of getting to 
Fernando de Noronha, for that was the 
name of the island. He was master, and 
one-third owner of the brig Sea Witch , and 
I knew his advice was to be depended on, 


62 


My Brazilian Adventure . 


I was very busy for several days follow- 
ing, arranging my business affairs and 
giving certain necessary directions to my 
partner, Simon LaForte. Each night I 
retired fully expecting a repetition of the 
dream, but my expectations were not real- 
ized. 

Ralph’s answer came Saturday. Here 
it is: 

“ Dear Uncle George, — 

“Yours of the 9th received. I am glad 
you’ve concluded to go to sea, but what 
possesses you to steer for Fernando de 
Noronha? It’s a Brazilian convict island 
one hundred miles from the coast, where all 
the life prisoners are confined, and except 
the government transports, not a vessel 
stops at the place for months together. 
There is absolutely nothing there but a 
fertile island of about twenty square miles, 
inhabited only by convicts, soldiers, and a 
governor. 

“The Sea Witch has been chartered to 
load for Pernambuco, and from there will 
come back to New York. Now uncle, 
take my advice and go along. The only 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


6 3 


way to see the ocean as it really is, is on a 
sailing vessel, and we shall probably sight 
this island of yours either going or return- 
ing, which ought to satisfy you. You 
would have a good time as a passenger, 
but as you’ve always been such a worker, 
it might not suit you to loaf, and in that 
case you could ship before the mast. We’ll 
show you how to make sennit, mouse 
blocks, overhaul buntlines, tie a reef-point, 
and do other things you never heard of. 

“ The brig is repairing at Poillon’s yard. 
We had a rough passage from Tampico, 
and the little hooker had a couple of sticks 
jerked out in a blow off Hatteras. 

“If you’re in New York in three weeks 
it will be time enough. I must run over 
to South Street now, so good-bye. Love 
to yourself and Aunt Alice. 

“Ralph.” 

This epistle I read aloud, and we both 
laughed over Ralph’s joke about my ship 
ping before the mast, but that part of the 
letter referring to the sticks being jerked 
out of the brig made me feel rather dubi- 
ous. I consoled myself, however, by re- 


6 4 


My Brazilian Adventure . 


fleeting that such things probably did not 
occur often, and after long deliberation 
decided to go, and wrote Ralph to that 
effect. 

It was the afternoon of July 2 that the 
tug Charm pulled the brig out from Pier 
11, East River, and took her in tow for 
Sandy Hook. It is a long tow, and the 
stars were shining when the pilot went 
over the side, the tug’s hawser was cast 
off, and we were left to shift for ourselves. 

Everyone aboard was so busy that I did 
not get a chance to say half a dozen words 
to Ralph that night. He and the mate 
were roaring out orders; the yards were 
being hoisted to the accompaniment of the 
wild sailors’ chant, which begins “From 
South Street slip to ’Frisco Bay,” and I 
finally turned in and slept sounder than I 
had for months, in spite of the racket on 
deck. 

Next morning was beautiful, and we 
were spinning along at a great rate when 
I came on deck. I felt fine, but somehow 
couldn’t walk very well. Ralph told me 
the names of the sails and some of the 


My Brazilian Adventure . 65 

ropes, and was surprised that I hadn’t been 
sick. 

Before we sailed, I had told him my 
dream, which he ridiculed until I spoke of 
the lofty peak, when he became serious. 

“ There is just such a peak at one end 
of the island,” he had said. “It is eight 
hundred feet high, and the observatory at 
its summit overlooks the island, and the 
ocean for sixty miles in every direction.” 

This was enough for me to know; I was 
now determined at any cost to get ashore 
on that island and try and find the scene 
pictured in my vision, for that such a scene 
existed I no longer doubted. 

Three weeks passed, and we had made 
good progress since leaving port. I soon 
found my sea legs, as Ralph expressed it, 
and often climbed the rigging as far as 
the tops. I went out on the jibboom and 
caught bonitas — a deep-sea fish of a steely 
blue color which preys remorselessly upon 
the fiying-fish; I read; I learned to make 
nautical knots of various kinds, and actu- 
ally felt ten years younger than I had in 
New Orleans. There was nothing to 


66 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


bother or irritate me; no telephones, no 
whistles blowing, no mail to open, no 
newspapers to read; in a word, I was in a 
new world altogether, and began to get 
so fat that Seth Hawkins, the mate, one 
day told me that I should have to shake a 
reef or two out of my clothes by the time 
I got back to New York. 

After a particularly fine day’s run, I 
said to Ralph, who had just marked it on 
the chart, “ I had no idea that sailing ves- 
sels could go fast. As this rate we shall 
soon be across the Equator. You say we 
are only 8° North this noon.” 

“Don’t crow, uncle, till we’re through 
the Doldrums,” he replied. 

I had heard a little about this bugbear, 
but had a rather vague idea as to what 
sort of a place it was. 

I was soon to know, for upon going on 
deck next morning, I found a dead calm. 
There was not even enough wind to steer 
by. The atmosphere was hot and muggy, 
while great masses of wet-looking clouds 
were piled up all along the horizon. The 
sails flapped against the masts and rigging 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


67 


with loud reports each time the brig rolled, 
and when I saluted Seth Hawkins, he said: 
“Well, Mr. Spencer, how do you like the 
Doldrums?” 

During the forenoon a violent rain squall 
struck us from due South, and we tore 
along at a nine-knot rate, while such tor- 
rents of rain I never saw before. Barrels 
were put in position to catch the water, 
but before noon the rain ceased suddenly 
and the wind with it. Thus it was all that 
day, all the next day, and for a whole 
week, — nothing but calms, rain-squalls, 
and variable winds (usually from the 
wrong direction), until I was nearly be- 
side myself. Some days we made less 
than thirty miles in the twenty-four hours, 
and it was no unusual occurrence to tack 
ship three, and even four times a day, 
which put Ralph and the mate in a hor- 
rible humor. 

But there is an end to all things, and on 
the twenty-ninth day out we crossed the 
line with a fair wind, and when Ralph 
figured out our position the next noon, he 


68 


My Brazilian Adventure . 


announced that we should probably be in 
Pernambuco inside of three days. 

After much persuasion, I induced him 
to promise to stop at Fernando de Noron- 
ha on the way back long enough for me 
to go ashore, for the wind we now had 
would carry us a long way inside the 
island, and we should not even sight it. 

Three days later the first half of our 
journey was completed, and we were safe- 
ly in port after a good passage of thirty- 
four days. 

I found much to interest me in Pernam- 
buco. The harbor was crowded with 
shipping, amongst which the British and 
Norwegian flags predominated; but my 
eyes were gladdened quite frequently by 
the sight of the stars and stripes. 

The head stevedore, who had charge of 
loading the brig, was a half-breed named 
Pedro. He spoke very fair English, and 
during one of our frequent talks, I casu- 
ally mentioned Fernando de Noronha. 

“Ah, Diabalo!” he exclaimed, his black 
eyes glittering, “My brother — poor Man- 
uel — he is there! ” 


My Brazilian Adventure . 69 

“Why, is he a prisoner?” I asked in 
surprise. 

“What for else should he be there?” he 
replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Santa 
Maria! he will never come back.” 

Then he related the story of Manuel, 
after which, by a little questioning, I found 
that Pedro knew several things about the 
island of interest to me. He said that 
occasionally, when vessels were becalmed 
there, a boat was sent ashore for melons, 
which grew in great abundance on a very 
small island near the larger one. A suit 
of clothes or a sack of flour would buy 
more melons than would go in the boat. 

We were thirty-one days in Pernambuco 
discharging and reloading, but at last the 
stores were on board and everything 
ready, and the day before sailing, I ac- 
companied Ralph to the Custom House to 
“clear the brig.” 

We put to sea on Monday afternoon, 
and at daybreak next morning the con- 
vict island should be in sight, if the 
wind held at northwest. I was much ex- 
cited, now that my hopes were so near 


7o 


My Brazilian Adventure . 


fruition, for that something of value was 
concealed at the foot of the palm tree I 
did not doubt; else why had I dreamed of 
this out-of-the-way spot, of which I had 
never even heard? 

That night we consulted together, and 
carefully matured our plans, for Ralph had 
come to take nearly as much interest in 
the outcome of the affair as I. He re- 
fused to go ashore himself, saying that it 
was against all custom for a captain ever 
to leave his vessel while she was on a 
voyage, but that Seth Hawkins and two 
of the crew should go in the boat with us. 

“ And now, Uncle,” said Ralph, “please 
realize one thing. In putting off a boat, 
I shall be doing something I’d do for no 
one but you, as it is the duty of a captain 
to take his vessel from one port to another 
without any unnecessary delay. So don’t 
lose any time on the island, for I shall feel 
guilty as it is.” 

I grasped his hand warmly, and whis- 
pered: “Ralph, if I am any richer to- 
morrow night than I am now, you shall 
profit by it.” 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


7 1 


He smiled, and said: “By the way, I 
shall have to let Hawkins into the affair 
to a limited extent, for he knows very well 
I’d not send ashore simply to get melons. 
He’s been with me two years, and can be 
trusted.” 

Eight bells struck; the second dog-watch 
was over, and Ralph went below to turn 
in, while Seth Hawkins and I paced the 
deck together, — he telling me some inter- 
esting reminiscences of his life in Hong 
Kong, where he had once kept a sailors’ 
boarding house. 

I rose very early next morning; in fact, 
it was but little past sunrise, and the crew 
had not finished “washing down.” 

The mate was standing by the starboard 
taffrail, and after the usual “ Good morn- 
ing,” he was about to speak, when I ex- 
claimed, pointing to the east, “Look! 
what great lighthouse is that? ” 

I had just seen it, — a distant outline 
clearly defined against the rosy eastern sky. 

“ That’s no lighthouse, though it does 
look like one. That’s the peak on your 
island.” 


72 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


The last words were spoken with so pe- 
culiar an emphasis that I knew Ralph had 
told him our plans. He went forward, 
and I continued to devour that majestic 
peak, that gradually lost its shadowy ap- 
pearance and assumed definite form. 

The wind was light, and we raised it 
slowly. As I looked, a feeling of bewil- 
derment stole over me. There was the 
peak of my dream to a certainty, and yet 
something was lacking. There should 
have been an island in front of it. 

At two bells in the forenoon watch we 
could distinguish objects on shore. For 
some time past I had noticed a small islet 
near the main one, and as we continued to 
sail on, we gradually brought it between 
us and the peak on Fernando de Noronha. 
Then I recognized it all. 

Ralph spoke to me, but I was speechless 
with emotion. 

“ Rouse yourself,” I at last heard him 
say; “In half an hour it will be time to 
launch the boat.” 

Those words restored me, and I went 
below to make my preparations. 























































* 





































































I 




























* 






















• V.V 


illli 


Y//S/S/ 

'.\VSW-* 




• •••:• v 






iiii 


S2M 






The Convict Island 





My Brazilian Adventure. 


73 


The boat was hoisted into the air by 
means of a bowline rigged over the fore 
yard-arm, and was then lowered over the 
side. Hawkins, a couple of hands, and 
myself entered it. 

I noticed that instead of heading for 
Wood Island, as Ralph called it, we were 
making for Fernando de Noronha itself. 
“Where are we going, Mr. Hawkins?” 
I asked. 

“We’ve got to get permission of the 
Governor, Mr. Spencer, before we can 
carry off any melons, or even land on that 
island,” he replied. 

A number of soldiers were gathered 
about the rude quay, evidently much sur- 
prised to see a vessel stop at the island. 
When the mate and I stepped ashore, a 
distinguished looking man whom we had 
not seen before came forward and said 
something in Spanish, which I did not un- 
derstand. Hawkins did, and bowed with 
a grace which I had never suspected him 
of possessing; and I knew that this was 
the Governor. 

The mate possessed some knowledge of 


74 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


Spanish, and finally managed to make 
himself understood. The Governor evi- 
dently took him for the master of the brig, 
as the two addressed each other respec- 
tively as “ Senor El Capitan ” and u Excel- 
lenza,” which was all I could understand. 

At a signal from the mate, one of our 
men brought a sack of flour from the boat, 
and we prepared to embark. Two of the 
soldiers advanced to the boat with us, and 
I saw them exchange glances of surprise. 

“ They’ve seen that spade and pick-axe, 
the rascals! ” said Seth, aside to me. u I’ve 
got leave to get all the melons we want,” 
he continued, as the men pulled away for 
the landing, “ but that smirking Governor 
was a sight to polite and inquisitive to suit 
me.” 

Wood Island is separated from Fernan- 
do de Noronha by a narrow channel, but 
Hawkins ordered his men to row around a 
point of land, to be out of sight from the 
quay, which was then something over a 
mile distant. 

After grounding on the beach, a little 
wave carried us further up, and we all 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


75 


leaped out. Seth dispatched the two men 
towards the north end of the islet after 
melons, and as soon as they were out of 
the way, we grasped our tools and com- 
menced the search for the rock, which 
ought to be near the shore. 

We followed the beach all along that 
side of the islet, Seth eying me curiously, 
and occasionally admonishing me to “Look 
out for centipedes.” 

Near the southern extremity, I came to 
a palm that seemed to me identical with 
the one of my dream, but not a solitary 
rock was there near it. After consider- 
ably more than an hour had elapsed, the 
mate ventured the remark that our pro- 
longed stay on the island might arouse 
suspicion in the Governor’s mind, especi- 
ally if the soldiers told him of the spade 
and pick-axe in the boat. 

I had seated myself on the decaying 
trunk of a fallen tree to rest a moment, 
and wonder if my expedition was to result 
in failure, but at Hawkins’ words I started 
up. 

I advanced towards a mango tree to 


7 6 


My Brazilian Adventure . 


refresh myself with some of the ripe fruit, 
when, through an opening in the under- 
brush, / saw it — the rock of my dream 
at last! 

There could be no doubt of it. I breath- 
lessly approached, and touched it with the 
spade. 

This is what was scratched on the broad 
surface, in characters quite fresh and dis- 
tinct: “Mas distante occidente.” 

“ Further west,” said Hawkins, behind 
me. 

“ Is that what it means in English? ” 

He nodded, and I turned to find the 
palm, which should be only a short way 
to the left. 

Could this be it — this blasted trunk, 
looking as though lightning had struck it? 
Judging from its position it must be, and 
making a sign to Seth, we fell to with pick 
and spade. 

We worked until I thought my back 
would break, and must have dug down 
more than three feet in the rich soil, when 
the spade struck an obstruction, and we 
heard the muffled grating of metal. Then 


My Brazilia7i Adventure. 


77 

the top of what seemed a small zinc box 
was uncovered. 

Silently we toiled away, and within ten 
minutes more were able to drag forth the 
box from its resting place. 

It was perhaps a foot square, and 
weighed so much that Seth and I took 
turns in lugging it along the beach to- 
wards the boat. Upon arriving there, I 
wrapped the box in a piece of tarpaulin, 
that the men might not see what it was, 
and placed it in the boat. 

We saw nothing of our crew, but the 
sight of nearly a dozen immense water- 
melons laid on the beach proved that they 
had not been idle. 

“Great Scott! I s’pose they’d bring 
melons for a week if I didn’t yell ‘Belay!” 
ejaculated Seth; “how many do they think 
the boat can hold? I’ve got to hunt them 
up, for Captain Spencer wants no time 
wasted.” 

He disappeared, and I occupied myself 
in devouring the box with my eyes, and 
speculating as to its contents. What fabu- 
lous wealth in gold and jewels was hidden 


7 8 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


away in that dull casket? Millions, pos- 
sibly. In what century had it been buried? 
Through what scores and scores of years 
had this little islet been the hiding-place of 
the ancient box I now looked on? All 
other eyes that had beheld it must have 
long since mouldered into dust. 

While absorbed in these reflections re- 
lating to the past, I was rudely recalled to 
the present by a crashing in the under- 
brush, and Seth Hawkins, with our men, 
appeared, running towards the boat. 

“Lay aboard lively there, Mr. Spencer!” 
cried the mate. 

Much alarmed, I tumbled in, and he fol- 
lowed a moment later. The men, a Scan- 
dinavian and a negro, were about to put 
some of the melons into the boat, when 
Seth cried, “Drop ’em, and pile in here, 
you sons of sea-cooks!” 

They obeyed, and shoved off the boat, 
though greatly bewildered at leaving the 
island without the very fruit we had os- 
tensibly come after. The oars were plied 
vigorously, and when about a ship’s 
length from the beach, I espied a cata- 


My Brazilian Adventure, 


79 

maran 1 coming around the north end of 
the islet. 

The truth burst upon us. “We are 
followed!” I exclaimed. Seth nodded. 

“Why? Did the Governor not give us 
permission to land?” 

“That’s true; but those dark-skinned 
devils that saw the spade and pick-axe 
like enough told him, and he’s bound to 
see what we’re up to. If they overhaul 
this boat, and see that box of yours, 
and find we’ve got no melons, there’ll be 
trouble. I’d have brought off a few, but 
they’d weigh the boat down too much. 
These Brazilians have no use for Ameri- 
cans, anyhow.” 

Our situation was certainly unpleasant. 
We were nearly a mile from the brig, and 
the catamaran was not over half that dis- 


i. This frail species of craft, which is much used in 
South American coast waters, is usually formed by lash- 
ing several planks together, in the form of a raft, the 
middle one being longer than the others, and slightly 
turned up at the forward end so as to form a rude bow. 
Empty casks are often lashed around the sides to lend 
buoyancy, and a single sail completes the outfit. The 
Brazilian government will not allow any other form of 
vessel at Fernando de Noronha — not even one for the 
Governor’s use — lest the convicts should escape. 


So 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


tance astern of us, and running dead before 
the wind, which was freshening. I was 
beginning to wonder what Ralph could be 
doing, for he actually seemed to be going 
away from us, when the mate cried out: 
“Look! the brig’s in stays! the Captain’s 
putting her about, so as to fetch us on the 
starboard tack. Hurray!” 

Five minutes later, the Sea Witch , with 
the wind abeam, was running down to us 
at nearly right angles, evidently aiming to 
go between us and our pursuers, who were 
now hardly a quarter of a mile astern. 
We easily made out five people on the 
catamaran, two of whom Seth thought 
were convicts, while one of the others he 
took for the Governor himself. The latter 
was waving something in a hostile manner, 
but as the brig was going six feet to the 
catamaran’s one, we no longer felt alarm 
unless our pursuers should use fire-arms. 

The brig’s helm was now put down, and 
she shot up into the wind, thus checking 
her progress; when halyards were let go, 
and the light sails came fluttering in. We 
were only a couple of cable lengths away, 


My Brazilian Adve?iture. 


8 


and soon had the boat alongside, and my 
newly acquired property aboard. 

The catamaran had given up the pur- 
suit, and was on her way back to the 
island, those on board indulging in violent 
gesticulations as long as we could distin- 
guish them. 

Some time later, we were closeted in 
Ralph’s room (which was much larger 
than mine) with the box between us. It 
was necessary to bring tools from the car- 
penter shop to open it, and the first dis- 
covery we made was that the zinc was 
simply the covering for a wooden box, 
which my nephew said was made of teak, 
one of the rarest and most durable of 
woods. It was lined with sailcloth, and 
upon drawing this aside we saw a small 
crucifix. Beneath this was a folded paper, 
and then — a golden vision! 

For one moment we stared at it in 
silence, when I stretched out my hand and 
took up a coin, half expecting to see it 
melt away. It bore the embossed head of 
Dom Pedro, and the date 1885, besides an 
inscription, 


82 


My Brazilian Adventure . 


“ Ha, this is modern!” I exclaimed, 
much surprised at the recent date. 

“Wait,” said Ralph, as I prepared to 
turn out the contents of the box, “ let me 
read this paper; it is in Spanish. 

“ This 34,000 M. is the property of Leon 
da Costa, Commander of His Imperial 
Majesty’s troops at Pernambuco, by whom 
it was here concealed September 16, 1889, 
pending the settlement of the dissentions 
which are now rending our unhappy coun- 
try, and which make it unsafe for one en- 
joying the favor of the noble Dom Pedro 
to own property in Brazil. 

“ Invoking the blessing of the church, 
and the protection of Holy Mary, I here 
commit my all to Mother Earth.” 

Neither of us spoke for a minute. I 
felt awed, as though a voice from another 
world had spoken. 

“Ralph,” I said, slowly, “if I had known 
this treasure had been here but two years, 
and belonged to a man who is probably 
still living, I should never have taken it. 
As it is, I shall keep it until inquiries are 


My Brazilian Adventure. 


83 


made, but it shall not be used except in 
the event of this man’s death.” 

Ralph bowed his head in acquiescence. 

The milreis is the standard coin of Bra- 
zil, as I learned at Pernambuco, and is 
worth about fifty-five cents in our money, 
so that the box contained nearly $18,700, 
some of which was in currency. 

“ This Da Costa,” said Ralph, “ evi- 
dently had the duty of conducting the 
convicts from Pernambuco to the island, 
and it was doubtless on one of these trips 
that he buried his money, though why he 
has let it remain so long puzzles me. And 
as for ‘Mas distante occidente,’ which 
you say was traced on the rock, the words 
were probably written as a guide to the 
location of the tree.” 

The convict island faded away in the 
distance, the great peak being visible for 
several hours after all other parts had 
vanished; and that evening, long after the 
damp night-wind had stiffened the sails, 
and a drenching dew la}' heavy on the 
bulwarks, I stood watching the glorious 
phosphorescent display in the brig’s wake, 


8 4 


My Brazilian Adventure . 


and marvelling over the strange fulfillment 
of my dream. 

The inquiries which we instituted upon 
my return home resulted in the discovery 
that Leon Da Costa had died of yellow 
fever in 1890 at Santos, one of the chief 
ports of Brazil, and at the same time about 
the most pestilential and unsanitary place 
on the face of the earth. I had no further 
scruples about using the money, $5,000 
of which I sent to Ralph, without whose 
assistance I should have accomplished 
nothing. He now owns two-thirds of the 
brig Sea Witch , of which vessel Seth 
Hawkins is still mate. 

Occupying a prominent place in our par- 
lor is a peculiar motto — the work of Alice. 
The figures are white, on a background of 
black, like this: 


3° 5 °' 3°" S. 



It never fails to attract the attention of 
visitors, man}' of whom inquire what it 
signifies. We tell them it is a marine 
puzzle. 



verity, and caused great 
havoc among shipping on the Atlantic 
seaboard from Florida to Maine. Besides 
the large number of vessels lost by going 
ashore, many were abandoned by their 
crews at sea after having sprung a leak or 
become water-logged. A large part of 
these craft subsequently foundered, but a 
number of them were vessels bound from 
Georgia ports to Boston and New York 
with cargoes of hard pine lumber, and in 
these cases the vessels, after becoming full 
of water, “ floated on their cargoes;” that 
is to say, the buoyancy imparted to the 


86 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


wrecks by the lumber in their holds kept 
them from sinking as they ordinarily 
would have done. Some of these derelicts 
have been known to float for a year or 
two, round and round in a beaten track, 
forming a source of great peril to naviga- 
tion; until, the lumber becoming thor- 
oughly saturated with water, the wreck 
finally sinks. In some instances the aban- 
doned vessel is torn to pieces by the 
violence of successive storms before this 
stage has been reached. 

The most remarkable case of this char- 
acter is that of the American schooner 
Fannie E. Wolston , which was abandoned 
at sea in October, 1891, and was still 
afloat three years afterward. She was 
sighted scores of times during this long 
interval, and was more than once set on 
fire by passing vessels. Her travels 
brought her from Cape Hatteras to mid- 
ocean; from the tropical Bahamas nearly 
to the shores of Europe; and in almost 
every part of the North Atlantic she was 
frequently seen. Covered with barnacles 
and sea-weed, reduced to a mere skeleton, 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


87 


and with one rusty anchor still hanging 
from her bow, this celebrated derelict 
continued for thirty-six months her long 
pilgrimage without captain or crew. The 
bitter gales of three Atlantic winters, that 
disposed of the ill-fated Naronic and a 
hundred other staunch vessels were unable 
to sink the Fannie E. Wolston. When 
last seen in September, 1894, s ^ e had 
nearly completed the third year of her 
phenomenal career as an abandoned 
wreck, during which long period it is 
computed that her drift was more than 
eight thousand miles. She was the record- 
breaker of derelicts. 

A sailing ship arrived at Philadelphia 
early in September, having on board the 
captain and crew of the brig Neptune , 
which had been abandoned four days previ- 
ously, two hundred miles east of Cape 
Hatteras, while on a voyage from Savan- 
nah to Boston with a cargo of Georgia 
pine. Within a month the brig was 
sighted no less than five times by steamers 
arriving at New York — the last time being 
in Lat. 42 0 N., Long. 65° W., a point 


88 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


several hundred miles. directly east from 
Boston. Thus in four weeks this derelict 
had drifted nearly six hundred miles to 
the northeast of the spot where she was 
abandoned. 

Nothing having been done towards 
recovering her, at the expiration of a 
month the owners of the powerful ocean 
tug Atlas , of Philadelphia, determined to 
despatch that vessel in search of the Nep - 
tu, 7 ie\ for, could the latter be brought into 
port, the owners of the tug would reap a 
profitable harvest in the way of salvage. 

Accordingly, one fine autumn morning, 
the Atlas steamed out from the Point 
Breeze Oil Wharves on the Schuylkill 
River, with a three weeks’ supply of coal 
and all the most efficient apparatus for 
wrecking and sea-towing. She was a 
staunch tug of 800 horse power, and was 
equipped with a powerful electric search 
light. There were on board Captain 
James and ten men, besides Albert Shaw, 
the captain’s cousin, who had no connec- 
tion with the tug, but had obtained per- 
mission to make one of the party more 


Bringing in a Derelict . 89 

through a love of adventure than anything 
else. 

After rounding the Delaware Capes and 
entering the open ocean, the course was 
laid N.E. by N., and Captain James 
remarked to his cousin as he finished 
examining the chart, “ Yes, Al, if all goes 
well we ought to overhaul that brig within 
five days, somewhere about 44 and 62.” 

“You appear to regard falling in with 
her as a foregone conclusion,” replied Mr. 
Shaw, somewhat surprised. He was a 
pale, slender young fellow of twenty-two, 
and was much more expert at entering up 
cash and taking off trial balances than at 
figuring latitude and longitude. 

“Why,” answered the captain, “I’ve 
marked on this chart the date and the 
place where she was abandoned; then I’ve 
put down a cross and the date at the exact 
spot she’s been sighted five different times 
since, and by connecting all my crosses 
with a pencil mark and figuring the dis- 
tance between each one, I can tell about 
how much and in what direction that 
wreck is drifting each day. She’s in the 
-7 


9 ° 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


Gulf Stream, which she won’t get out of 
till I tow her out. There’s the dinner 
bell.” 

The captain’s explanation had enlight- 
ened Albert as to the method to be pur- 
sued in locating the wreck ; though, to tell 
the truth, he was a little skeptical in regard 
to the final outcome of the matter. 

There was a brisk sea running, and in 
spite of the table-rack, it required no little 
dexterity to prevent beef, vegetables and 
condensed milk from mingling in one con- 
fused jumble; but every one was in good 
humor, and the fresh, salt air had sharp- 
ened the appetites of those who gathered 
about the little table, and especially that of 
the captain’s cousin, who averred that he 
had not been so hungry in six months. 

Dinner over, Albert busied himself in 
exploring every part of the tug and inves- 
tigating the night signals, when suddenly 
Captain James called to him from the 
upper deck. Upon ascending thither, he 
was informed that the Atlas was bearing 
down on a floating lumber yard. Looking 
ahead he saw, still some distance away, 


Bringing in a Derelict . 


9 1 


great quantities of planks floating about; 
in fact the ocean seemed literally covered 
with them, forming a curious sight. 

The tug soon reached the outer edge of 
the moving mass, and Jim Spears, the 
mate, remarked as he surve}'ed the white 
clean planks with a critic’s eye, “ Fine 
lumber, that. Some good-sized vessel’s 
lost her deck-load, I reckon.” 

The planks rose and fell on the long 
regular swell, and as some of them were 
occasionally lifted partly out of water by a 
sea, their shining wet surfaces reflected 
the sun’s rays with dazzling brilliancy. 
In some places they were massed together 
so closely that it was difficult to find a 
passage through them, and though the 
greater portion of this valuable lot of tim- 
ber was soon left behind, masses of planks 
were met continually for a distance of 
nearly twenty miles. Captain James took 
the bearings of the main body so as to 
report the matter upon reaching port. 

A six-knot breeze was blowing next 
morning but the sun did not show himself, 
and noon having come with the sky still 


9 2 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


cloudy, the Captain was compelled to 
figure out his position by dead reckoning, 
which is not so accurate as a solar observa- 
tion. He calculated that if everything 
went well, the tug should not be far from 
the Neptune at the end of twenty-four 
hours, providing his estimates of the brig’s 
drift were correct. 

The afternoon wore on, and the skipper 
and his cousin had paced the narrow deck 
for some moments in silence, when the 
former remarked meditatively, “ I had a 
queer experience with a derelict once, — 
just after I took this tug.” 

“ How was that?” asked Albert. 

The captain finished filling his pipe with 
fragments of tobacco which he cut from a 
plug, and continued: 

u It was about two years ago that I 
received orders to go after the derelict 
bark Pegasus. She had sailed from a 
Nova Scotia port for the West coast of 
Ireland with one million feet of deals 
aboard, and after being abandoned in a big 
blow was sighted several times. I’m a 
sinner if we didn’t cruise twenty-five hun- 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


93 


dred miles and use up half our coal when, 
on the twelfth day out as I came on deck, 
my mate said to me, “ Captain, there’s a 
lame duck two points on the port bow.” 
(We seamen often speak of a crippled 
vessel as a lame duck.) Well, we’d run 
that bark down at last, and we lost no time 
in getting her in tow. After towing her 
two days, what do you think happened?” 

“ The hawser parted?” 

“ She sank — went right down — and I 
went back to port the most disgusted man 
in Philadelphia. We found, after we got 
in, that a steamer passing the wreck and 
considering her dangerous to navigation 
had set fire to her; but after burning the 
main deck nearly through, and a hole in 
the stern, the fire had been put out, prob- 
ably b}' the seas which the bark shipped. 
This was only a couple of days before we 
sighted her. While we had her in tow I 
noticed that a good deal of lumber washed 
out every time a big sea struck her, and I 
didn’t like it much either, though 1 made 
no doubt she’d float till we reached port. 
But, as I said, she played me a mean trick 


94 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


and foundered about four hundred miles 
off the Delaware Capes.” 

“ That was tough luck,” commented 
Albert, as he glanced at the dial of the 
taffrail log which trailed astern — its brass 
rotator revolving rapidly just beneath the 
surface of the dark blue water. 

Next day was bright and sunny, and an 
extra sharp lookout was kept, for it was 
hoped to sight the derelict within the next 
twelve hours. After ascertaining the 
tug’s position at noon, the course was 
changed to N.N.E., and things went on as 
before. Mr. Shaw pored over the chart of 
the North Atlantic, and was in a state of 
impatient expectancy all day, although the 
mate kindly informed him that they might 
not sight the brig for a week yet, if indeed 
they ever did. 

It lacked but a few minutes of sunset, 
when the captain, who for some time had 
been standing near the pilot-house sweep- 
ing the horizon with his glass, cried 
sharply, “ Starboard your helm, there!” 

“What’s up now?” asked Albert, as- 
cending the ladder to the upper deck. 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


95 


“A wreck of some kind, dead ahead.” 

Taking the glass, he saw nothing at 
first, but finally made out an object that 
looked like a pole sticking out of the 
water. 

u That stick is the mast of a vessel,” 
replied the captain, in answer to Shaw’s 
inquiry, “and at least half of it is car- 
ried away. The hull must be awash too, 
or we could see it plainly now, for she can’t 
be over six miles off. If the craft was in 
her natural condition, I’d have sighted her 
long ago — at twelve miles certainly. A 
little more and we’d have run right away 
from her.” 

“Does she look like a brig, sir?” asked 
Speers. 

“ Can’t make out her rig yet. The 
chap we’re after is hereabouts somewhere 
if I’ve calculated right,” said the captain, 
taking another survey of the object ahead. 

The tug was rapidly closing up the gap 
between herself and the wreck, and the 
faces of those on board presented an inter- 
esting study. Captain James was anxious 
to know whether the wreck they were ap- 


9 6 


Bring mg' in a Derelict . 


proaching was the brig he was in search 
of. The usual excitement caused by the 
sight of an abandoned vessel did not affect 
him; it was simply a matter of business. 
So also with Spears, though perhaps to a 
less extent. The majority of the crew 
contemplated the stranger with feelings 
akin to indifference. Many of them did 
not know the name of the vessel they were 
in search of, — neither did they care. But 
Albert was looking at a genuine wreck 
for the first time, and his heart beat faster 
as the ocean waif grew more and more 
distinct, with her shatterd masts, disor- 
dered rigging and general appearance of 
desolation. 

“ Neptunel ” cried Captain James, as he 
made out the gilded letters on the port 
bow. He had already formed the opinion 
that she was the craft of which he was in 
search, as enough of her spars were left to 
show that she had been square-rigged on 
her foremast, and brigs are now compara- 
tively scarce. 

When the tug was within a few rods of 
the Neftune , her boat was launched, and 


Bringing in a Derelict . 


97 


the mate, Albert, and two of the crew 
entered, when it was rowed around to the 
brig’s bows in search of a favorable place 
for boarding. A large rope, probably the 
starboard fore-brace, was entangled in the 
standing rigging in such a manner that 
fiifteen or twenty feet of it trailed in the 
water alongside the wreck. The mate 
picked up the rope’s end, and drew the 
boat so close to the brig that, taking ad- 
vantage of the next roll she gave towards 
him, he seized a lanyard and was soon on 
board. Albert and Joe Miller followed. 
The other man, known as “ Sharkey,” 
remained in the boat to see that she did 
not get stove against the side of the wreck. 

Speers took a cursory glance around, 
and then hailed the tug. “All ready, sir,” 
he cried. A rope had been fastened to 
one end of the tug’s big hawser, and the 
other end of this rope Captain James now 
hove, so that it landed on the brig’s fore- 
castle deck. The mate and Joe Miller 
hauled it in, and secured the hawser to the 
brig’s bows. This important task having 
been accomplished, the boarding party 


9 8 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


proceeded to take a thorough survey of 
the wreck. 

The foremast was gone at the lower 
mast-head, leaving the fore yard still in its 
place, upon which the tattered remnants 
of the foresail were still visible. It had 
apparently been clewed up without having 
been furled, and the winds of five weeks 
had whipped it into ribbons. The entire 
mainmast was gone about ten feet above 
the deck, and in falling had smashed the 
bulwarks on the port beam and quarter so 
that the water flowed all over the deck, 
where it was several inches deep. She 
was so low that her main deck was level 
with the ocean, and small seas were con- 
stantly toppling over her bows and low 
bulwarks, where they broke in showers of 
spray. The main boom was hanging over 
the side, while the bowsprit and all the 
jibs were entirely gone. The main hatch 
was battened down, but the fore was off, 
and upon looking below the cargo of lum- 
ber was seen pressed up close under the 
hatch, where it occasionally surged slowly 
from side to side in obedience to the slug- 


Bringing in a Derelict . 


99 


gish motions of the brig. On top of the 
after house a small boat painted white 
was lashed, having in some way escaped 
the general destruction. The wheel and 
rudder appeared uninjured. There was a 
perfect litter of ropes, blocks, standing 
rigging, etc., floating about the deck, all 
tangled in a confused mass. 

The party now entered the cabin. 
Everything here was drenched; the sky- 
lights were gone; fragments of glass en- 
cumbered all that portion of the floor not 
under water; and there was a damp, 
musty smell such as one encounters on 
entering a cellar not often opened. The 
captain’s compass was still in its place 
under the centre skylight, but its brass 
work was badly stained with salt water. 
The state rooms were in much the same 
condition as the cabin, and the whole port 
side of the after house seemed to be 
slightly stove. The companion-way door 
was ripped off, and nowhere to be seen. 

On emerging from this dismal place the 
mate took a peep into the crew’s quarters. 
The rows of bunks in which the men had 


IOO 


Bringing in a Derelict . 


slept still contained a mouldy mattress or 
two, while a large cask that had doubtless 
been used as a table was rolling about the 
door. A couple of rusty pannikins floated 
about in the shallow water. It was of 
course impossible to enter the lazarette or 
the fore peak, for they were submerged. 
All the provisions were ruined, but the 
scuttle butts contained plenty of fresh 
water. 

Having finished his examination, Speers 
sent the boat back to the tug for a supply 
of provisions for Miller and Sharkey, who 
were to remain on the wreck to steer her. 
As soon as the stores were placed aboard, 
and a few directions given, Albert and the 
mate pulled away from the derelict, for a 
squall was making up in the north-west 
and it was high time to get under way. 
Mast-head lanterns were run up, and the 
two vessels started for Boston. 

There was plenty to talk about that 
night, and Albert staid up long past the 
usual time conversing with the master of 
the tug, who was in a jubilant mood, and 


Towing the Wreck 













































Bringing in a Derelict . 


IOI 


who more than once invited his cousin to 
“ splice the main brace.” 1 

u The owners will have to give me 
credit for quick work this time,” the cap- 
tain said. “ Monday we left Philadelphia; 
Wednesday we picked up the derelict; and 
on Friday — or Saturday at furthest — we 
ought to steam up Boston Harbor. Speers 
says the brig’s cargo seems in good shape, 
and if so it should easily bring $7,000 at 
auction. The hull may fetch a thousand 
more. Not a bad haul, Mr. Shaw, for five 
days’ work.” 

“ This derelict business seems profit- 
able.” 

u It is — if you can find the derelict. 
For instance, the schooner Sargent has 
been floating about the North Atlantic 
ever since last spring, with twenty thou- 
sand dollars’ worth of mahogany in her 
hold. There is a prize worth trying for, 
but although a score of vessels have 
sighted her, several of which attempted to 

1. When a seafaring man invites you to splice the 
main brace, he asks you to join him in taking some 
liquid refreshment. 


102 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


tow her in, she is still drifting about with 
a small fortune on board. Last month 
some Baltimore parties organized an expe- 
dition and chartered a steamer to find the 
Sargent and bring her in. They searched 
for several weeks, and then returned to 
port considerably out of pocket, to find 
that a Cunarder had just seen the schooner 
not forty miles off the course they had 
taken. 

“ But I must go on deck; the night looks 
squally.” 

Albert turned in, and dreamed of drift- 
ing about the ocean for many weeks on a 
water-logged wreck, which foundered the 
instant assistance was at hand and he 
escaped only by leaping out of his berth 
against the wall. 

The heavily laden brig, submerged to 
her decks, offered a great resistence to the 
water, and when a brisk head wind sprang 
up, the powerful tug was scarcely able to 
make headway. Several rain-squalls were 
encountered during the nignt, and by sun- 
rise there was every indication of a gale. 
A heavy swell was running, the wind in- 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


103 


creased, and Captain James felt some con- 
cern for the safety of his tow. By noon 
a hard northwester had set in, accom- 
panied by an ugly head sea. Both vessels 
were under water most of the time, noth- 
ing of the derelict being visible but her 
masts and deck-houses, while the tug 
struggled through the heavy rollers and 
blinding spray with only her smoke-stack 
and pilot house above water. 

It was a day of anxiety. The wreck 
was simply a sodden mass of timber, with- 
out buoyancy, and dragged and pulled on 
the huge hawser in a manner that caused 
continual apprehension. Instead of rising 
to meet the big rollers, she went lurching 
and floundering through them; burying 
herself in the brine, and then coming up 
with a backward jerk that made the cap- 
tain catch his breath. Even a steel haw- 
ser has its limits of endurance. 

Night closed in chill and comfortless, 
with no sign of immediate improvement. 
Albert put on a life-preserver, braced him- 
self in his bunk without undressing, and 
wondered if he should ever see terra firma 


104 Bringing in a Derelict . 

again, while the cook shook his head and 
confided to a deck-hand that u this was 
what come of having landsmen aboard.” 

The wind blew harder, and even a full 
steam pressure hardly sufficed to drive the 
Atlas along. The middle watch was half 
over when the straining tug plunged sud- 
denly forward, rolling and pitching vio- 
lently, as though freed from a cumbersome 
weight. At the same instant a muffled 
cry was heard by those on the upper deck. 
All knew its meaning — the derelict was 
adrift ! 

The night was black as pitch; mist and 
spray obscured everything; and almost 
before the order to reverse the engines 
could be given, the wreck was vanishing 
in the gloom. The tug’s head swung 
round and she started in pursuit. 

Fifteen minutes sufficed to show Cap- 
tain James the utter futility and peril of 
attempting to recover the brig until the 
gale moderated. The Atlas was being 
literally Overwhelmed and forced under 
water by the furious seas which overtook 
her. She could not steam fast enough to 


• Bringing in a Derelict. 105 

escape them. One great comber bent the 
smoke-stack, smashed the pilot-house win- 
dows, tore away the life-boat, and bore the 
tug down until it seemed as though she 
would never come to the surface. It was 
madness to continue, and the Atlas was 
put about and hove to. 

Never in his life had her captain suf- 
fered such keen exasperation as now. 
With water streaming from his oilers, he 
stood grasping the pilot-house rail, and 
watched the derelict’s mast head light 
glimmering astern like a will-o’-the-wisp; — 
now hidden by a great wave, — now reap- 
pearing fitfully, — now swallowed up in 
the black night. He strained his eyes 
through the salt mist till they ached, but 
the dismantled wreck and her imperilled 
crew were seen no more. 

The captain went below, and calculated 
as accurately as possible the tug’s position 
when the derelict broke adrift, the direc- 
tion and velocity of the wind, and force of 
the current. Nothing could be done until 
the gale moderated. There was ample 
time for everyone to discuss the misfor- 


lo 6 Bringing in a Derelict . 

tune, and speculation was rife as to the 
fate of Joe Miller and Sharkey, who had 
last been seen at dusk, lashing themselves 
to the shrouds. This would save them 
from going overboard while the rigging 
held, but their slender stock of provisions 
must have been swept away or ruined by 
water, which would render their position 
desperate unless quickly rescued. 

The gray dawn came, by which time 
the worst was over, and eager eyes scanned 
the sea for some trace of the brig. But 
the wreck, sitting very low in the water 
and with only a few feet of her masts left, 
had drifted out of the line of vision, though 
she was probably not fifteen miles away. 
Wind and sea were still boisterous, but 
the search began immediately. 

The conditions in general seemed to 
favor a speed}' recovery of the Neptune , 
for the wind was still in the same quarter, 
the day was clearing rapidly, and the 
wreck having no sails and being practi- 
cally under water, could drift but slowly. 
But the brig’s condition, coupled with the 
fact that the tug herself sat very low, 


Bringing in a Derelict . 107 

formed no slight obstacle to early success. 
Had the Atlas possessed a tall mast, the 
derelict might have been visible from it, 
but nothing could be seen from the roof 
of the pilot-house save the smoke of a 
steamer on the northern horizon. As time 
passed, bringing no tidings of the missing 
vessel, the excitement increased, and a 
handsome reward was promised any man 
who should first sight the wreck. Twice 
a false alarm was given, but the day waned 
until the shadows stole over the deep. 
Still there were no tidings. 

Through the starlit night Captain James 
thought of his absent men and of the suf- 
ferings they must be enduring. He sent 
up rockets at intervals, though with little 
hope of an answer; for the Neptune's sig- 
nalling apparatus was doubtless ruined by 
water, and his men would be powerless to 
make their presence known. 

The sea was calm at daybreak, the sun 
shone brightly as the hours flew by, and 
the tug covered many leagues, while the 
promised reward kept all hands on the 
alert. The Atlas overhauled a large bark, 


io8 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


and spoke her, but she had seen nothing of 
the Neptune; and another day drew to a 
close. 

One of three things had happened: the 
derelict had foundered, had been taken in 
tow by a passing steamer, or was still 
drifting helplessly about. The first sup- 
position was improbable, if not impossible. 
Experience has shown that a vessel in the 
Neptune's condition can survive tempests 
that send stout ships to the bottom. As to 
the second, the number of steamers having 
facilities for towing wrecks is small, and 
the' castaway’s value must be great to 
induce one to attempt salving her. The 
last supposition was probably the true 
one. A vessel may float about the steam- 
traversed North Atlantic for weeks with- 
out being seen, and not five derelicts in a 
hundred are ever brought into port. After 
weighing the chances carefulty, the cap- 
tain came to the conclusion that the brig 
was still an aimless wanderer, though it 
was incomprehensible how she could have 
eluded so thorough a search. 

The next day was but a repetition of 


Bringing in a Derelict . 


109 

the one preceding, and this continued until 
the days became a week. Hope was 
almost gone, the coal was two-thirds con- 
sumed, and still Captain James would not 
give up. 

Finally, ten days after the loss of the 
Neptune, the Atlas abandoned the search 
and returned to Philadelphia. 

As soon as she was sighted by the oper- 
ator in the marine signal station, the fact 
was telephoned to the city; and when she 
reached the dock, one of the owners was 
on hand to meet her. Joe Miller and 
Sharkey were there also, sitting on a box 
of merchandise, and exhibiting no traces 
of suffering or emaciation. 

The surprise of the tug’s people was 
great, but the captain was soon enlight- 
ened as to the derelict’s fate. That 
troublesome craft had been picked up the 
morning after she broke adrift, by a West 
India fruit steamer bound to Boston. 
Three-fourths of the steel hawser was still 
attached to the Neptune , so the steamer 
had only to fish up the broken end, secure 
it to her stern bits, and continue on her 


I IO 


Bringing in a Derelict . 


way. The weather remained fine and she 
reached her destination the second day 
afterward. 

The division of the salvage money was 
a delicate matter. An abandoned vessel 
becomes the property of whoever brings 
her into port, but in the present instance 
the derelict was held to be the tug’s prop- 
erty even after she broke adrift, because 
she continued in possession of two of the 
tug’s crew, who remained on her from the 
time the hawser parted until she was 
safely beached on the mud-flats in Boston 
harbor. Consequently, she was not legally 
“ an abandoned vessel ” when the fruiter 
picked her up; nor could the latter have 
handled her at all except for the tug’s 
hawser. But the steamer had rendered 
an unquestioned service by towing the 
wreck into port, and was therefore enti- 
tled to a portion of the money. She was 
finally awarded 25 while the remainder 
went to the Atlas. 

The lumber cargo realized a trifle over 
$6,000 at auction, but the brig’s hull had 
been badly strained and battered in the 


Bringing in a Derelict. 


hi 


last gale, and brought only $500. Her 
age, combined with her severe injuries, 
made it unprofitable to put her in sea- 
going condition, and she was converted 
into a lighter for transferring merchandise 
about Boston harbor, in which humble 
capacity she will probably end her days. 




Cape Horn, and as 


westerly winds prevail all over the South 
Pacific, the craft bound back to the States 
has everything in her favor. Five weeks 
had elapsed since the thousand-ton bark 
Western Belle sailed from Auckland and 
Wellington for Boston, and on this June 
morning she was in the South Atlantic, 
steering a north-easterly course. 

It was evidently mid-day, for the cap- 
tain and mate were squinting at the sun 
through their sextants; while a young lady 


The Monomaniac . 


i H 

stood near, wondering, as she had often 
done before, how it was possible for such 
queer-looking instruments to aid in deter- 
mining their exact position upon so vast 
an expanse of water. 

She was slightly above the medium 
height, and decidedly pretty, with a fine 
color in her cheeks. The sun’s rays and 
ocean’s breezes had tanned her fair skin 
until, as she expressed it, “ her dearest 
friends couldn’t have told her from a South 
Sea Islander.” A heavy blue flannel dress, 
sailor blouse, jaunty cap kept in place by 
a long pin, and rubber-soled tennis shoes — 
the finest things in the world to keep one’s 
footing in a heavy sea — completed the 
picture; and there you have Miss Laura 
Blake. 

“What would become of us, Captain, if 
you and Mr. Bohlman were to fall over- 
board, or otherwise disappear from the 
scene? It never occurred to me before, 
but there would be no one left to bring us 
into port. Mr. Freeman knows nothing 
about taking sights.” 

Miss Blake said this half in jest, half in 


The Monojnaniac . 


X1 5 

earnest. The captain regarded it as a 
good joke. 

“ No, the second mate has never used a 
sextant, I believe, though he could doubt- 
less navigate the bark for some time by 
dead reckoning. Meanwhile, my dear 
young lady, you and Mrs. Evans could 
study my Epitome, and learn to take the 
sun yourselves.” 

The idea of her aunt “ taking the sun” 
caused a quick smile to overspread Miss 
Laura's features. 

“I’m afraid the Western Belle would 
soon run ashore, or go to the bottom, if 
we women undertook to sail her,” she re- 
plied. “As the widow of a sea-captain, 
Aunt Sarah believes she knows all about 
ships, but I fear it would require even 
more than her nautical knowledge to 
bring us into port.” 

Captain Maxwell shared this opinion, 
but he was far too gallant a man to say so. 

“Mrs. Evans certainly learned a great 
deal during the few voyages she made 
with her husband, and with your assist- 
ance, Miss Blake, there is no telling what 


ii 6 


The Monomaniac. 


you might not be able to accomplish. 
However, both Mr. Bohlman and I are not 
liable to fall overboard, so you will prob- 
ably have no chance to distinguish your- 
selves as navigators.” 

Though considerably past sixty, and 
with a head of snowy white hair, no one 
ever thought of Captain Maxwell as 
elderly. His dark eyes still shown with 
the fire of thirty, and every motion of the 
erect, military figure was surprisingly 
quick and agile. In ordinary conversa- 
tion, his words were spoken with an effec- 
tive deliberation that is none too common 
now-a-days, while a fine courtly air — “old 
fashioned” some people called it — lent 
additional dignity to his presence. 

Mrs. Evans appeared at this moment 
emerging from the companionway, and 
Captain Maxwell hastened to place a chair 
for the widow of his old friend. 

“Isn’t it a beautiful day, Captain?” the 
lady exclaimed. “I cannot recall a more 
delightful morning.” 

“I agree with you, madam; it certainly 


The Mono?naniac . 


ll l 

is a fine day, although, as your niece says, 
a trifle cool perhaps.” 

“Possibly. But we are approaching the 
Line, Laura, and it will become warmer 
as the bark sails north. For my part, I 
think this bracing air delightful, and have 
not regretted returning to Boston in this 
manner rather than by steamer to San 
Francisco. Ir reminds me of the two voy- 
ages I made with the late Captain Evans.” 

The widow’s good-natured face beamed 
with amiability and placid content. She 
was a comely matron, and though not en- 
dowed with a great amount of intellect, 
its absence was in a measure supplied by 
the charms of a thoroughly feminine and 
womanly nature. 

The ladies had been visiting relatives in 
Sydney, and had expected to return to 
America by the Oceanic Liner Monowai. 
Happening to meet Captain Maxwell on 
the street one day, he had jokingly pro- 
posed that they take passage with him to 
Boston. Mrs. Evans had known him well 
in past years, and she instantly regarded 
the plan with favor. Her niece, however, 


1 18 


The Monomaniac. 


knew no more of sailing vessels than does 
the average landsman, who judges all craft 
of this description by the coasting schoon- 
ers which he has casually noticed, and had 
a vague idea that it was flying in the face 
of Providence to go anywhere in one. 
Yielding to the joint entreaties of her aunt 
and Captain Maxwell, and considerably 
reassured by a view of the Western Belle , 
she at length consented, and had so far 
enjoyed the novelty of the trip exceed- 
ingly. 

“Neither do I regret it, Aunt,” she said, 
“although it would be agreeable to know 
about what time we may expect to reach 
Boston. That is the one drawback to go- 
ing anywhere on a sailing vessel — you 
can’t tell how long the voyage may last.” 

“The time required to go from New 
Zealand back to the States does not vary 
much,” the captain answered, “ and I think 
I can promise you, Miss Blake, that the 
trip will not greatly exceed ninety da} T s. 
We have made a good run nearly every 
day so far, and ought to pick up the south- 
east trades next week.” 


The Monomaniac. 


lI 9 

“ Even if the voyage should require four 
months, it would be nothing dreadful, 
Laura. We seamen do not mind a few 
days more or less, — do we, Captain?” said 
the widow. 

Carl Bohlman, the portly mate, seemed 
a little surprised at this reckless disregard 
of time, while Captain Maxwell stroked 
his beard and looked rather doubtful. 

“Perhaps not, madam. Your wide ex- 
perience enables you to judge of such mat- 
ters. I remember one time, though, when 
your late husband had the Davy Crockett , 
and I commanded the Sunrise , w T e were 
racing from Hong Kong to New York; 
and I can assure you that every minute 
and every hour were of the utmost import- 
ance. We both passed St. Helena on the 
fifty-eighth day out, but the Sunrise was 
beaten on the home stretch by twenty-four 
hours.” 

“ How exciting ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Evans. 
“Think of it — racing clear around the 
world! That was before I met my hus- 
band, but I have often heard him mention 
the affair.” 


120 


The Monotnaniac. 


“It must be dangerous, Aunt. We have 
the pretty Cape pigeons to race with, which 
satisfies me perfectly. How sorry I shall 
be when we see the last of them.” 

“You are timid, Laura, which is excus- 
able in. one of your limited experience. 
You have crossed the Atlantic twice, but 
running over from New York to Liverpool 
is a mere bagatelle. Crossing the Pacific 
is something, to be sure; but when you 
have doubled both Capes, and crossed the 
Line six times — well, then you can lay 
claim to being a sailor, and will not be 
easily alarmed.” 

The widow glanced from one to the 
other and settled back in her chair with 
pardonable pride, after giving this account 
of her achievements. She was rewarded 
with a bow from Captain Maxwell, who 
then said : 

“ To change the subject, Mrs. Evans, 
you must have been very busy this morn- 
ing. Unless I am mistaken, we have been 
deprived of your society since breakfast.” 

“ That is true, Captain. I have been 
putting the finishing touches on that rug, 


The Monomaniac. 


12 


which I consider quite an addition to the 
cabin furniture. After that, I wrote for 
some time — and ah! that reminds me. I 
feel certain that the fresh-water tank in 
the bathroom has again been tilled with 
salt water. While endeavoring to remove 
an ink-stain from my fingers, I found that 
the soap made no impression. That care- 
less boy seems unable to remember which 
tank is for fresh water, and which for salt.” 

The captain frowned. 

“ This is the second time since leaving 
port that Dick has made the same mistake. 
When I have worked out my sights, the 
matter shall be attended to.” 

“ That Dick Lewis needs a rope’s end,” 
observed the mate, as soon as Captain 
Maxwell had gone below, “ and if the cap- 
tain would let me, I’d give it to him.” 

“There is something peculiar about that 
boy,” said Miss Blake. “ Sometimes I 
think his mind is not quite right. You 
know what a mania he seems to have for 
fire-works, Aunt. We were not a week 
out before he was found to have matches 
and fire-crackers concealed in the fore- 


122 


The Monomaniac. 


castle. Then one afternoon not long ago 
he was discovered in the lazarette, although 
no one had sent him there.” 

“That’s so, miss; and the captain thought 
Dick might have been fooling with the 
signal-lights and rockets. I hardly think 
that, though. Most likely he was after 
the eatables.” 

“You can see, Laura, what sort of sail- 
ors the future generation of captains will 
have to contend with. Do you suppose 
such things ever happened on my hus- 
band’s ship? Fresh and salt water mixed 
together, matches and fire-works in the 
fo’k’sl, rockets and signals in the lazarette? 
Why, it is awful to think of! ” And the 
widow shook her head, as she reflected on 
this extraordinary state of affairs. 

“ That boy in the second mate’s watch 
is worth a dozen of this one of mine,” 
Bohlman observed. “ Freeman predicted 
he would be the day we divided up the 
watches, and he was about right. Don’t 
tell him I think so, though.” 

The second mate had just come on deck, 
and Miss Blake said mischievously: “I 


The Mono?naniac. 


2 3 


shall tell Mr. Freeman what you said unless 
you promise to rig up a bo’s’un’s chair this 
afternoon, and hoist me up one of the masts.” 

“ I’ll do it, miss, if you say so,” replied 
Bohlman, “ though you got scared the 
other time before you were a quarter of 
the way up.” 

u Laura, I will not allow such a thing 
again. What would you think if I were 
to go aloft and haul over a buntline? ” 

“I should laugh, Aunt; I know I should,” 
and Miss Laura did laugh aloud, while the 
mate turned away to avoid showing his 
merriment at the comical idea of the 
widow overhauling buntlines. 

u But really, Aunt, there is no danger 
in it, and Mrs. Brassey, in ‘Around the 
World in the Yacht Sunbeam ,’ speaks of 
being drawn clear up to the mast-head in 
a bo’s’un’s chair. It is said, also, that 
Bernhardt climbed the rigging of a 
steamer one day when on her way to 
Australia.” 

“Genius is always eccentric, my dear, 
and may do anything with impunity. But 
there — dinner is served. Let us go.” 


124 


The Monomaniac. 


One could not pass through the bark’s 
comfortable cabin without knowing that 
women were on board. The very arrange- 
ment of the chairs showed it. No matter 
how neat and tasteful a man may be — and 
Captain Maxwell was both — he can sel- 
dom give to a room or dwelling that inde- 
scribable air of home-like comfort and 
domesticity that a clever woman finds it 
so easy to impart. There was something 
cheerful in the appearance of the widow’s 
open work-box, with its pretty blue lining, 
and an anchor worked on the inside 
cover, — for Mrs. Evans affected every- 
thing nautical, — while a large rug or mat 
made of spun-yarn and sennit bore witness 
to her skill. The vessel’s name was neatly 
worked in the center. Several water-color 
paintings by Miss Laura ornamented the 
walls, and a globe of gold-fish swung from 
the ceiling. An upright piano occupied 
the space between two doors. There was 
nothing especially elegant or luxurious, as 
the bark had never been intended for a 
passenger vessel, but everything was very 
pleasant and comfortable. The ladies had 


The Monomaniac. 


12 5 

separate state-rooms, each of which con- 
tained but one berth, and was consider- 
ably larger than the average state-room 
on a passenger steamer. 

After dinner, Captain Maxwell sent for 
Dick Lewis to come to the quarter-deck. 
This boy belonged to the mate’s watch, 
which was now off duty. He had not 
turned in, however, but could be seen 
with two others of the crew, washing his 
clothes in the lee scuppers. 

It had rained hard the night before, and 
many of the hands availed themselves of 
the chance to catch the water for laundry 
purposes. Two lines were stretched from 
a starboard backstay to one on the port 
side, on which were hung shirts of various 
colors and patterns, patched overalls, tow- 
els, socks that had never been mates, and 
various other articles of apparel. 

Dick came aft presently, and stood be- 
fore the captain; a lanky, unprepossessing 
youth of sixteen or seventeen. A carroty 
head of hair, low forehead, white eye- 
brows and lashes, very pale complexion, 
and keen blue eyes which constantly shift- 


126 


The Monomaniac. 


ed about — these were the most noticeable 
points of his appearance. 

“Dick,” said Captain Maxwell, “for the 
second time within two weeks, you have 
put salt water in the fresh water tank. 
This must not happen again.” 

“ I must have put the funnel in the wrong 
hole, sir,” said Dick, not appearing much 
abashed. 

“ That is evident. Get a marline-spike 
from the second mate and then go out on 
the end of the jib-boom. Stay there and 
pound the rust off the chains until three 
bells strike. That may help you to re- 
member. Go forward.” 

The captain told Mr. Freeman what 
Dick was to do, and then went below for 
his nap. 

Out on the jib-boom, Dick performed 
his allotted task. What was passing in 
the boy’s mind, it would be hard to tell 
from the expression of his face. Resent- 
ment against Captain Maxwell? Scarcely. 
He seemed rather to be studying over 
some project. Now his lips moved, as 
though talking to himself. Then would 


The Monomaniac. 


2 7 


follow a low chuckle, as of satisfaction at 
solving some intricate problem. At such 
moments, his knitted brows became 
smooth, and the chains were pounded with 
a vigor that seemed to give a kind of 
pleasure to the worker. Once or twice 
his revery was disturbed by a fancied foot- 
step, and he furitively glanced around to 
see if anyone was watching. 

Three bells had struck some little time 
before a hail from the deck attracted 
Dick’s attention. 

“Jib-boom, there!” 

“Aye, aye, sir.” 

“Time’s up, Dick. You must like to 
pound chains.” It was the second mate 
who spoke. 

Dick felt for the foot-ropes, and remem- 
bering Mr. Freeman’s injunction not to let 
the marline-spike go overboard, he slung 
it round his neck, and made his way to 
the deck. 

“Where are your ears, Dick?” 

“On my head, sir.” 


128 


The Monomaniac. 


“No impudence, you lubber! Next 
time I’ll let you work till we make port. 
Hand over that marline-spike.” 

“Yes, sir. Will you please tell me 
something, Mr. Freeman?” 

“Maybe so, if I can. The mate says I 
don’t know anything.” 

“I want to know, sir, how you send off 
those signal-lights, what I was forbid to 
touch. Are they like Roman candles?” 

Freeman took hold of the youth’s arm, 
and said sternly, “Dick Lewis, don’t you 
ever think of those things. Why, d — it, 
you’re as crazy as a loon about fire-works! 
If you’ve got any more stowed away in 
the fo’k’sl, it’ll go hard with you. I’ve 
got nothing against you, Dick, but if I 
hear any more talk like this, it’s my duty 
to report to the captain. You’ll soon be 
in irons, at this rate.” 

“ I was only fooling, sir. Please don’t 
give me away.” 

“ ’Vast talking, and go below. The 
watch is half over now.” 

Dick disappeared into the forecastle, 
and Freeman meditated for some time 


The Monomaniac. 


129 


over the possible meaning of the boy’s 
peculiar talk. 

“ He’ll bear watching,” he mused. “I’d 
better tell Bohlman not to send him into 
the lazarette, on any account. No, I won’t, 
either; the Dutchman’s too d — d arrogant, 
and thinks he knows it all. I’d only be 
told to mind my own business.” 

Freeman had just reached this decision 
in regard to Dick, when a Greek sailor 
called Asso approached, and asked for 
more bath-brick. 

The officer went to see how his watch 
were getting on with their job of cleaning 
the paint-work on the deck-houses, and 
found that buckets of water, swabs, and 
bath-bricks, were being used to such pur- 
pose that the white paint was rapidly as- 
suming the appearance of new-fallen snow. 
Then there was a section of wire cable to 
be spliced, and other work to be seen to. 
Thus the afternoon passed, and Dick’s 
talk about the signals was banished from 
the second mate’s mind by the various 
duties of the hour. 


130 


The Monomaniac . 


Chapter II. 

It was a fine evening. The full moon 
had risen out of the ocean in matchless 
splendor, and was rapidly changing its 
blood-red hues for more silvery tints, as it 
soared into the cloudless sky. 

The captain and passengers were on the 
quarter-deck, while Mr. Freeman hung 
over the rail with the comfortable assur- 
ance that the bark was making a better 
run in the second dog-watch than she had 
in the first, when the mate had been in 
charge. 

“I told you, Miss Blake, I should get a 
good breeze in my watch, and you see I’m 
as good as my word.” 

“So I perceive; and now that you have 
it, see that it doesn’t fail us before morn- 
ing. Otherwise I shall think your fine 
breeze all the result of luck. How pleas- 
ant it is to hear the water gurgling around 
the ship.” 

Eight bells struck, and the dog-watch 
was over. The wheel and lookout were 
relieved, and Freeman went below, while 


The full moon had risen in matchless splendor. 







The Monomaniac . 


*3 


Carl Bohlman came on duty to stand the 
first watch, which lasted until midnight. 

“What are you thinking of, Aunt? For 
ten minutes you have not spoken a word.” 

“The beauty of the night has cast a 
spell over me, Laura, and I was thinking 
of a favorite poem of mine. I never real- 
ized the significance of the first stanza 
more than on this evening, when we are 
out on the great ocean with every object 
bathed in white light. 

“‘The dews of summer night did fall, 

The moon, sweet regent of the sky, 

Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall, 

And many an oak that grew thereby.’ ” 

“Excellent, my dear madam,” said Cap- 
tain Maxwell. “You have a fine poetic 
instinct.” 

“ The oaks that grew around Amy Rob- 
sart’s luxurious prison are replaced here 
by the bark’s masts and sails, captain, but 
the effect is not less beautiful.” 

“A fine conception, Mrs. Evans, but we 
must remember that it is not summer in 
these latitudes, even though the dew is 
gathering, and you may take cold sitting 
there. Will you take my arm? ” 


1 S 2 


The Monomaniac . 


u With pleasure, captain.” 

They had paced the deck for some 
minutes, and the widow was relating some 
story that seemed greatly to amuse the 
captain, when the latter stopped suddenly, 
dropped on one knee, and stared at one of 
the deadlights 1 near his feet. 

“ Good heavens ! How you startled me, 
captain. Robinson Crusoe couldn’t have 
been more astonished when he saw the 
footprint in the sand, than you seem to be. 
What is it?” 

“Worse than a footprint, Mrs. Evans. 
The moonlight prevented our noticing it 
sooner. Stand here — where your shadow 
falls on this deadlight. Now what do you 
see? ” 

“A light reflected from below. Oh, 
Laura, the lazarette is on fire! ” 

Captain Maxwell was already disappear- 
ing through the hatchway, while the mate 
and Miss Blake ran up at the widow’s ex- 
clamation. Even the silent figure at the 

i. Thick cones of clouded glass let into the quarter- 

deck. The lazarette beneath obtains all its illumina- 
tion from these deadlights, which focus the rays of light 
powerfully. 


The Monomaniac . 


r 33 


wheel started at the mention of the word 
fire. 

It was but a moment before the master 
of the bark reappeared, bearing a lighted 
lantern in one hand. 

“The cause for alarm is removed, ladies,” 
he said quietly. “There is no fire in the 
lazarette, though nothing short of a mir- 
acle prevented it. This lantern was stand- 
ing on the floor beneath the deadlight and 
caused the reflection to appear. Mr. Bohl- 
man, have you any idea how it came 
there? ” 

He spoke with apparent calmness, which 
Miss Blake readily saw was more feigned 
than real. 

The mate hesitated a moment before 
answering: “Dick must have left it there, 
sir.” 

“ Dick must have left it there! So that 
bright boy of yours has been in the lazar- 
ette again without permission? If I don’t 
have him triced up to the spanker-boom in 
irons early to-morrow morning, my name’s 
not John Maxwell.” 


J 34 


The Monomaniac. 


“He was in the lazarette, sir, but not 
without permission. I sent him there just 
before supper to bring up a coil of old rope 
that was to be ravelled out. He wasn’t 
there ten minutes.” 

Both ladies glanced at the mate in sur- 
prise at these words, and Captain Maxwell 
looked at his chief officer in a way that 
was anything but complimentary to the 
latter. The captain had a temper of his 
own, which was under excellent control, 
but he found it necessary to cross the 
quarter-deck twice before trusting himself 
to speak. 

“After that occasion a week ago, when 
this boy was discovered in the lazarette 
doing ’ God knows what, I should have 
thought your own judgment would have 
prevented your sending him there again. 
There are plenty of men in your watch, 
and if none of them knew where this old 
rope was, you should have gone yourself, 
rather than let that fool of a boy take a 
light into such a place.” 

Bohlman smarted under this speech, 
though he maintained a discreet silence, 


The Monomaniac . 


*35 


knowing it would be useless to attempt to 
justif}^ himself in the captain’s present 
humor. Inwardly, however, he cursed 
Dick Lewis for having forgotten the lan- 
tern, and thus bringing his superior’s cen- 
sure upon himself. 

Orders were given for Dick to come aft, 
and the youth shortly appeared on the 
quarter-deck for the second time that day 
in the role of culprit. He quailed before 
the captain’s glance, and nervously shifted 
his old felt hat from one hand to the other. 

“ Do you know why you have been sent 
for?” 

Dick pointed to the accusing lantern, 
and said in a frightened tone: “Yes, sir. 
I — I remember now I forgot to bring up the 
lantern when — when I fetched the rope/’ 

This was a lie. He had turned the wick 
low and then left it in the lazarette pur- 
posely, knowing well that no one would 
enter the place after the day’s work was 
done. But for the accidental circumstance 
of its having been placed too near one of 
the deadlights, the presence of the lantern 
would never have been suspected. 


136 


The Monomaniac. 


u Do you know what I ought to do with 
you ? ” 

The captain’s tones were so stern that 
Dick was hardly able to articulate “No, 
sir.” 

U I ought to take a rope’s end and beat 
you within an inch of your life. That’s 
what any captain would have done twenty 
years ago, and what some would do now. 
You left this light down there among bales 
of oakum, sennit, old sails, rockets, signal- 
lights, and other inflammable stuff, and if 
there had been enough sea running to heel 
the bark over a trifle more, the lantern 
would have upset, setting the whole place 
on fire — and we out in the South Atlantic, 
a good week’s sail from the nearest port!” 

The captain’s passion mastered him, and 
he shook Dick until the boy’s teeth chat- 
tered. Suddenly releasing him, he turned 
to Mrs. Evans and her niece. 

“I ought to apologize, ladies, for this 
outburst; but I lost one ship by fire years 
ago, and this boy has tried me beyond en- 
durance.” 


The Monomaniac. 


! 37 


“I do not blame you in the least, cap 
tain,” said the alarmed widow; “I feel 
sure my husband would have inflicted a 
severe punishment for such an offense. It 
is as bad as Guy Fawkes and the gun- 
powder plot.” 

“You see, madam, we officers have to 
put up with a good deal from sailors now- 
adays, ” said Captain Maxwell, sarcastic- 
ally. “If I punished that boy as he de- 
served, he would have me arrested the 
moment we reached port. Then, aided by 
some unscrupulous lawyer and the testi- 
mony of various members of the crew, I 
should be convicted of ‘ cruel and unusual 
punishment,’ and fined heavily, or impris- 
oned. The evidence of yourself and niece 
might clear me in this case, but all the 
papers would print articles about the bar- 
barity of captains and mates in general, 
and the lot of the poor, abused merchant- 
sailor, — forgetting to mention the fact 
that a vessel, her cargo, and all hands, had 
narrowly escaped a terrible disaster at the 
hands of one of these persecuted saints! 


The Monomaniac. 


■38 

“Dick, you were warned a week ago 
that if you entered the lazarette again 
without permission you would be put in 
irons. But it seems you had permission,” 
— with a glance at the mate, — “and so we 
shall have to let you off easier. Go up on 
the fore royal yard and sit there until the 
watch ends at midnight.” 

Dick was unable to repress a sigh of re- 
lief as he turned away, but his sharp ears 
heard Captain Maxwell say to the mate: 
“As soon as it is light enough to-morrow 
morning to see objects in the lazarette 
without a lantern, bring up that canister 
of powder and those four boxes of rockets 
and signal-lights. They shall be kept in a 
locker in the cabin during the rest of the 
voyage. Another thing — never again let 
that boy go anywhere with a light.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

The cause of this trouble went forward, 
muttering to himself: “Powder! the cap- 
tain said powder! I might have found it 
to-night if they hadn’t caught onto the 
lantern. How did they know it was there, 
I wonder?” 


The Mono?naniac . 


39 


He climbed the fore rigging, unmindful 
of the taunts of the crew at his second 
punishment that day, and the captain’s 
words kept ringing in his ears. 

“ To-morrow morning they’ll all be put 
where I can’t get at ’em,” he muttered, 
“and if only they hadn’t found the lantern, 
I could have got away with some of them 
rockets to-night. And the powder ! I can’t 
do nothing without a lantern, though, and 
I ain’t even got a match.” 

He perched himself upon the royal yard, 
with a lunatic’s cunning, inventing various 
schemes for getting at those fire-works. 
That was his mania. Although as sane as 
anyone on other subjects, he was an abso- 
lute monomaniac in everything relating to 
such matters; and since the day when he 
had overheard a remark relating to the 
signal-lights and rockets, his fingers had 
itched to investigate them and see what 
they were like. Not even the certainty of 
punishment could stand in his way. 

Some people, when they ascend to the 
roof of a high building, have an almost 
irresistable desire to leap from it. It is 


140 


The Mono?nciniac. 


not that they wish to do so, but some 
strange power seems urging them to it in 
spite of themselves. Others have a similar 
feeling when in close proximity to a swift- 
ly-moving railroad train, and require all 
their will power to keep from casting 
themselves before the locomotive. So it 
was with Dick Lewis. He could no more 
keep his mind off the lazarette and its con- 
tents, than steel can resist the influence of 
a magnet. He sat there as the hours 
passed, looking ahead into vacancy; think- 
ing and thinking; and imagining just how 
the rockets must look, as they lay side by 
side in their boxes down in the midnight 
darkness of the lazarette. How quiet and 
silent they were! And yet the touch of a 
match — 

He put up a hand before his eyes and 
turned his head to one side, as though to 
ward off a blow. 


“Aunt, we really must go below. It 
cannot be far from twelve o’clock, and we 
have staid on deck nearly two hours past 
the usual time.” 


The Mojtomaniac. 


H 1 

“That is true, Laura; and yet I feel 
strangely wakeful. But. as you say, it is 
very late, and high time that we turned 
in. So good night, captain, and pleasant 
dreams. Good night, Mr. Bohlman.” 

Mrs. Evans paused as she reached the 
companion-way. 

“How beautiful the moonlight is,” she 
said, so low that no one heard; “and from 
what an awful peril have we this night 
been delivered.” 

She slowly followed her niece to the 
cabin. 

Captain Maxwell did not linger long on 
deck after his passengers had turned in. 
He, too, usually retired early, and arose 
at daylight. But the incident of the lighted 
lantern disturbed him. To the master who 
has once experienced fire at sea, the mere 
possibility of another visitation conveys a 
dread that the w~orst hurricane cannot in- 
spire. He paced the deck for some time, 
and then, after a glance aloft, went below. 

Midnight came; and the mate was re- 
lieved by Frank Freeman, who found his 
superior in no very pleasant frame of mind. 


142 


The Monomaniac. 


“You’ve still got a fair wind,” Freeman 
observed; “she’s slipping through it in 
good shape.” 

“I suppose you expected to come on 
deck and find a dead calm, with me and 
my watch ahead in the long-boat, towing 
the bark.” 

Bohlman left the quarter-deck with this 
good-natured rejoinder, while the second 
mate smothered a laugh as he lit his pipe. 

Dick climbed down the fore rigging with 
alacrity, and entered the forecastle with 
the rest of the port watch. His plans were 
matured. There was a triumphant light 
in the boy’s eyes, and a furtive smile on 
his ill-favored features as he crept into his 
bunk and feigned sleep. 

A lantern swung from the dingy ceil- 
ing, casting a flickering light upon the 
tiers of bunks, and upon various other ob- 
jects in the forecastle. There were oilers 
and rubber boots thrown about here and 
there, old books without covers, and sea- 
chests of various patterns. The numerous 
initials, names, and dates, cut into the walls 


The Monomaniac. 


43 


indicated that the Western Belle had sailed 
the seas for many years. On one side some 
one with a talent for drawing had recently 
executed a chalk picture of the whale swal- 
lowing Jonah, which was a marvel of real- 
ism. Near this artistic production was 
tacked a printed card setting forth what 
rules the crew were expected to obey, 
what compensation they were to receive, 
and other matters of like import. 

Sea air and insomnia are deadly ene- 
mies, and before one bell struck, a chorus 
of snores assured Dick that his companions 
were asleep. He suffered a few minutes 
over the half hour to elapse, and then 
slipped noiselessly from his bunk. Gliding 
to the open door, he looked stealthily out. 
That side of the deck was thrown into 
shadow by the forecastle, and no one was 
to be seen but two of the watch on duty 
slowly walking up and down the main 
deck, as they conversed in low tones. The 
others were doubtless on the opposite side 
of the forward-house. 

Dick turned from the door, waited a 
moment to be sure that all were asleep in 


H4 


The Monomaniac . 


the bunks around him, and then produced 
a towel. Next he took down the lantern 
from its hook overhead, and wrapped the 
towel about it so that the light was invis- 
ible. That done, he made for the door, — 
stepped out on deck, — and crept forward 
in the shadow of the building. 

Upon reaching the corner, he stopped 
and listened The distant murmur of 
voices was heard on the opposite side of 
the house, but the moonlit stretch of 
deck ahead was untenanted. Apparently 
no one was about the extreme forward 
part of the vessel except the lookout. The 
boy’s unshod feet made no sound as he 
darted across the strip of moonlight that 
fell between the forward-house and the 
forecastle deck. Now he was standing 
by the open fore hatch. 

In large sailing vessels that stand well 
out of water, it is customary to leave the 
fore hatch off at all times unless some very 
severe gale is threatened. The forecastle 
deck overhead prevents rain or salt water 
from entering, and as it is often necessary 
to go down to the fore peak half a dozen 


The Monomaniac. 


45 


times a day, it would be a useless trouble 
to move the hatch-cover each time. This 
was the case with the Western Belle. 

Dick well knew he could not enter the 
lazarette at the customary place without 
being seen by the man at the wheel and 
the officer on duty, and had conceived the 
laborious, but perfectly feasible plan, of 
descending through the fore hatch to the 
’tween-decks, and then crawling aft over 
the cargo the whole length of the vessel 
to accomplish his purpose. 

Without losing time, he placed his foot 
upon the first step of the ffight of stairs 
that led down to the fore peak, and then 
rapidly descended. It was black as Erebus 
when he reached the bottom, and before 
taking another step he uncovered the lan- 
tern and stuffed the towel in his pocket. 
Cautiously walking over old sails, ropes, 
barrels, casks, etc., the boy was soon out 
of the fore peak proper, and at that part 
of the ’tween-decks where the cargo began 
to be stowed. 

The foremast looming up ahead gave 
him quite a start, and a sort of dread pos- 


4 6 


1 he Monomaniac. 


sessed him at thought of the long distance 
to be traversed in that profound darkness. 
Dick had not realized until now the mag- 
nitude of the task before him, but he only 
wavered a second, and pushed on. 

It soon became impossible to walk, and 
he dropped on his hands and knees, creep- 
ing along on all fours; at the same time 
holding the handle of the lantern between 
his teeth. Its rays illumined but a short 
space in front, though they served to make 
the gaunt deck-beams assume all sorts of 
strange and fantastic shapes that he could 
not help noticing. Thus he crawled along 
over bales of flax and tow, boxes of Kauri 
gum and sacks of horns; picking his way 
carefully, and impatiently wondering how 
far he had progressed. This was at length 
made plain, though in an unexpected man- 
ner. 

In attempting to accelerate his speed, 
the boy had grown a little careless, when 
he suddenly felt his left hand go off into 
space, and barely saved himself from 
plunging headlong downward. The shock 
was a severe one, and he drew a deep 


The Monomaniac . 


H7 


breath of relief when he had backed away 
from the yawning aperture. 

“Fool!” he muttered; “I clean forgot 
the main hatch. I like to have fell all the 
way down to the lower hold and broke 
my neck. Well, Dick, you’re half way, 
anyhow.” 

He crawled around the square opening 
and proceeded. In a few minutes the way 
was blocked by a great object that the 
youth could not account for, but which 
was really the iron tank containing drink- 
ing water. He avoided it and continued 
to advance, having stopped a moment to 
stretch his cramped limbs. Next he came 
to the after hatch, but was on the lookout 
for it and pushed on steadily, though he 
began to ache all over from crawling so 
long. Once a startled rat scurried across 
his stockinged foot in its haste to escape, 
causing another momentary scare. Had 
it not been for the increasing excitement 
under which he labored, the boy must 
have been chilled, for a draft of cold air 
like that in a cellar swept through the 


14 8 


The Monomaniac . 


’tween-decks from one end of the bark to 
the other. 

The mizzen mast told Dick his journey 
was nearing its end, and he stopped a few 
seconds to take breath. His heart beat 
so quick and fast that he felt stifled, and 
his limbs trembled in a way that he could 
not account for. But the thought of the 
fire-works nerved him, and cans of powder 
danced before his disordered imagination. 

There was not much further to go, so 
after shoving back the hair from his damp 
forehead, he crept on until the peculiar 
formation of the vessel’s timbers proved 
that he was in the stern. 

He looked up. Directly overhead was 
a small opening. 

u That must be zV/” he whispered. 

There were no stairs nor any ladder, but 
standing erect, his head was just on a level 
with the aperture. First arranging the 
towel about the top of the lantern so that 
the light should not be cast upward, he 
reached up and set it down on the floor 
above. Then, panting with excitement 


The Monomaniac. 


H9 


and bathed in cold perspiration, Dick 
placed both hands on the edge of the 
hatch. 

One agile spring, and he was in the 
lazarette. 


Chapter III. 

So quiet was the night, that Freeman’s 
measured footsteps, as he trod the quarter- 
deck, sounded with strange distinctness to 
the guilty occupant of the space beneath. 
No other sound disturbed the silence but 
the gentle swish and gurgle of the water 
alongside, and an occasional creak from 
some block or pulley. 

The piles of swelling canvas; the mast- 
heads nodding against the stars; the white 
paint-work of the poop; the delicate shad- 
ows cast upon the deck by the ropes and 
shrouds; the motionless figure of the man 
at the wheel; — all were beautified and 
softened by the white flood of moonlight. 
Drops of dew glittered everywhere, and 
when Freeman laid his hand upon the 
main brace, it was wet as though from rain. 

He had been reading odd items in an 


The Monomaniac . 


r 5° 

old copy of the Sydney Herald , and put 
it down just as two great rats that had 
come up from the hold scampered across 
the deck. This was nothing unusual, and 
after stamping with his foot to scare the 
bold creatures, he glanced at the binnacle. 

“ Keep her at N. N. E., Matt; you’ve 
let her go off a point. Watch the card, 
man.” 

“ Keep her at N. N. E., sir,” the fellow 
repeated, shifting his quid to starboard as 
Freeman walked away. 

“ I’ll see how the lookout does,” the 
officer thought, “though if every night 
was like this, there’d be little need of any.” 

He went forward along the port side. 
Happening to cast a glance through the 
open forecastle door, he noticed that the 
light was out. 

“That’s queer,” he soliloquized; “it 
burned brightly enough when I passed by 
a couple of hours ago.” 

He entered the door to see if the wick 
was out of order, or whether all the oil 
had been consumed. Neither — the lan- 
tern was gone! 


The Monomaniac. 


* 5 * 

He had just made this discovery, and 
was leaving the building to ask his men 
whether any of them had removed the 
light, when a curious jarring sensation 
rooted him to the deck. The idea of a 
submarine earthquake flashed through his 
brain, but within a second’s time there was 
a deafening report, — a blinding flash, — 
a staggering of the bark, — and then fly- 
ing timbers and bales of merchandise were 
hurled skyward with awful power. The 
whole after part of the vessel seemed go- 
ing up in the air piecemeal! 

“ Great God !” breathed Freeman, grasp- 
ing the ladder on the forward house. 

His self-possession soon returned. Al- 
ready some of the crew had begun to act 
like lunatics. 

“ Call all hands, and behave like men. 
The bark’s still afloat, and now three of 
you come aft with me.” 

His cool decision inspired confidence, 
and half a dozen of the crew followed. 

The canvas began to flap — the bark 
was badly off her course. Freeman 
bounded on as he noticed this fact. 


152 


The Monovianiac. 


u That cowardly Matt’s deserted the 
wheel,” he thought — “ or else the poor 
devil’s been killed.” 

But the officer stood motionless when 
he reached the place where the quarter- 
deck had been — the spot where he had 
been standing not five minutes since. The 
whole deck was gone, and in its place was 
a great cavity that reached from one side 
of the vessel to the other, and seemed to 
go down to the very keelson. 

It was a time for action, and he crept 
along on the starboard side, walking on a 
few jagged splinters, and holding to the 
main brace with his hands. The wheel 
had been shattered and was useless, while 
Matt lay against the rail where the force 
of the explosion had hurled him. 

u Men, sheet everything home, and move 
d — d quick! The wheel’s smashed and we 
can’t steer the bark. Let go all the hal- 
yards and sheets, and get her stripped. 
Work for your lives! ” 

Had the wind been stronger, a serious 
accident would probably have resulted be- 
fore the unmanageable vessel could have 


The Monomaniac. 


53 


been relieved of her canvas, but although 
she careened badly, it was but a few min- 
utes before enough sails had been taken 
in to avert the threatened danger. 

The unaccountable disaster that had be- 
fallen was sufficiently appalling to those 
who were on deck at the time it occurred ; 
but imagine the feelings of the others — 
roused from a sound sleep at three in the 
morning by a shock as of an earthquake. 
The mate’s watch were asleep in the fore- 
castle, a considerable distance from the 
lazarette, but to the captain, passengers, 
mate and steward, who occupied the after 
house, the sensation was indeed awful. 
What wonder that the screams of Mrs. 
Evans and Miss Blake rent the air? Or 
that Captain Maxwell, experienced sea- 
man that he was, found himself utterly 
stunned and bewildered? But he was on 
deck in no time, issuing orders with the 
confidence of one who has long been ac- 
customed to command. 

Nothing so quickly restores our pres- 
ence of mind in great crises as the knowl- 
edge that others look to us for advice and 


—ii 


*54 


The Monomaniac. 


help. When the terrified Miss Blake 
rushed into her aunt’s cabin, it must be 
said to the widow’s credit that she left off 
screaming, and endeavored to pacify her 
niece. She tried to think what Captain 
Evans would have done in such an emer- 
gency, although having no clear idea as to 
what manner of evil had befallen the ves- 
sel; and after hastily assuming her dress- 
ing gown and slippers she issued forth 
with a boldness that surprised even her- 
self. 

The sight that presented itself utterly 
confounded the good woman, and it was 
only after passing her hand across her eyes 
several times, that she could believe the 
evidence of her senses. The cabin parti- 
tion towards the stern was blown entirely 
out, together with the companion-way, and 
skylight above. The roof of the cabin had 
been splintered in places and lifted up, un- 
til Mrs. Evans could see a patch of sky 
here and there, while the floor under her 
feet was so uneven she could hardly walk 
upon it. She stood holding to the center 
table, blankly wondering what could have 


The Monomaniac. 


l 55 

happened, when the steward came from 
Captain Maxwell’s room. 

“Oh, steward, in the name of heaven, 
what has happened? Are we sinking? 
Have we been pooped? Is the bark stove 
to pieces on a rock? ” 

u It’s not that bad, Madam Evans. 
There’s no rock in this part of the ocean, 
and if we’re sinking it’s very slowly. Are 
you hurt? ” 

“No; only badly frightened. I cannot 
realize yet what is the matter. Is anyone 
killed?” 

“We can’t tell yet, ma’am. But I must 
not stop here talking. The after wall of 
the captain’s room is blown out and the 
head of his bed torn off. The room was 
set afire, too, and in putting it out he 
burned his hands badly. Will you hold 
this lamp while I get some linseed oil and 
batting? ” 

Captain Maxwell’s injuries were more 
painful than dangerous, and considerable 
relief was afforded as soon as Mrs. Evans’ 
deft fingers had applied the dressing. He 
then returned to the deck. It still lacked 


The Monomaniac. 


* 5 6 

over two hours of dawn, and the moon was 
low in the west. Total darkness would 
soon descend, and there was much to be 
done. Already the carpenter was at work 
on a new wheel, and the moment it was in 
position the captain resolved to steer for 
Rio de Janeiro, where repairs could be 
made. 

The strong smell of powder, and the 
shattered timbers, left no doubt in the 
captain’s mind that an explosion of some 
sort had caused the catastrophe. Fortun- 
ately, its greatest force had been upward; 
otherwise the vessel’s bottom might have 
been blown out, thus ending her career 
and those of all on board in short order. 
The signals in the lazarette were the only 
explosives on board the bark, but how they 
could have become ignited was not easily 
seen, unless a fire had started. Everyone 
was on deck but the ladies; there was no 
more sleep that night. 

“ Mr. Bohlman, you will muster all 
hands amidships, and you and Mr. Free- 
man will then call the names of those in 
your respective watches. Some one may 


The Monomaniac . 


*57 


have been killed. Whose wheel was it at 
the time of the accident? ” 

“ Matt’s, sir,” answered Freeman. “He 
was badly hurt by being blown against the 
bulwarks. We’ve put him in his bunk, 
and two hands are rubbing him.” 

While the crew were assembling, the 
captain questioned his second mate closely 
as to whether he had noticed any signs of 
fire about the after part of the vessel, or 
seen any person enter the lazarette. Free- 
man was certain, however, that he should 
have smelled smoke had there been any 
fire, while as for anyone entering the place 
without being seen by himself or the man 
at the wheel, — it was impossible. It will 
be remembered that he had gone below 
just before Captain Maxwell discovered 
the lighted lantern, and therefore knew 
nothing of that circumstance. 

“About how long was it after you left 
the quarter-deck until the explosion took 
place? ” 

“ It wasn’t five minutes, sir. I was go- 
ing forward to the fo’k’sl deck to see that 
everything was all right, when, happening 


The Monomaniac. 


158 

to look in the port door of the fo’k’sl, I 
noticed the light was out. I stepped in to 
see whether the lantern was empty or not, 
but found it gone. Then — ” 

“You found the lantern gone!” ex- 
claimed the captain, an idea striking him. 
“ Did you notice whether Dick Lewis was 
gone, too? ” 

“Dick Lewis? No, sir; why should I? 
It was his watch below, and he was prob- 
ably in his bunk.” 

“We shall see. Come with me to the 
main deck.” 

All hands were assembled around the 
capstan in various degrees of astonish- 
ment. Several of that motley crew had 
probably been shipwrecked during vari- 
ous stages of their careers, but it may be 
doubted whether any had ever witnessed 
an accident similar to that which had just 
taken place. 

“ Dick Lewis, step forward! ” 

The captain’s stern command produced 
a sensation, and all hands wondered what 
was coming next. 

“Dick Lewis, step forward! ” 


The Monomaniac . 


1 59 


The words were repeated, but no re- 
sponse came from among the crowd of 
men standing about in the raw morning 
air. 

a That settles it,” said the captain, de- 
cisively. ' u Let the fo’k’sl be searched, 
and every other part of the bark. If that 
boy is not to be found, he has paid the 
penalty of his rashness. He may be dead 
in the hold, or he may have been blown 
through the quarter-deck and into the 
ocean.” 

Freeman remembered the conversation 
of the previous afternoon, when Dick had 
betra}^ed his curiosity regarding the sig- 
nals. Yes, the captain’s theory must be 
correct, and he shuddered to think how 
long the boy might have been at work in 
the lazarette while he walked the deck 
above. But how had he entered the place? 
Matt was not so badly hurt but that he 
was able to swear no one had passed 
through the hatch, and he, Freeman, had 
left the quarter-deck but twice during the 
watch, and then only for a few minutes. 
The true solution of the problem passed 


i6o 


The Monomaniac. 


through the minds of Captain Maxwell, 
his mate and second mate, at almost the 
same moment, but the two former at first 
dismissed it as too improbable. Freeman, 
however, insisted that Dick must have 
gotten into the lazarette, if at all, by 
crawling all the way aft through the hold; 
and as Matt insisted that no one had gone 
below by the usual way, this view of the 
matter was the only possible one left. 

“God only knows what ailed that boy,” 
Captain Maxwell said, as Dick’s devilish 
ingenuity became apparent, “but he’s 
found out by this time how those signals 
work, and what twenty-five pounds of 
powder can do.” 



After two weeks of 
tribulation, the bark- 
entine Mohawk was 
through the Atlantic 
Doldrums. The hot, 
murky atmosphere, 
and the low-hanging rain-clouds that seem 
always ready to open and let fall a deluge, 
were left behind, and the fact that a breeze 
had blown from the same point of the 
compass for three successive hours was 
another certain indication that this tor- 
menting region of calms, rain-squalls and 
variable winds was a thing of the past. 

When one bell struck, and the steward 
brought Captain Charles Pitkin his morn- 
ing cup of coffee, the skipper felt as light- 



Crossing the Line. 


162 

hearted as a boy, and knew, without look- 
ing at the compass, that the craft was 
speeding along towards Buenos Ayres, 
instead of drifting aimlessly about in the 
calm belt or beating to the southeast 
against a head wind. 

“We ought to cross the Line to-day, at 
this rate,” he said to himself. 

The steward heard the words, and made 
bold to say: “Will we, sir? I only wish 
Father Neptune would come aboard and 
make subjects of those three lubbers in 
the fo’k’sl. They are the worst green- 
horns I ever did see.” 

“You mean the two Swedes and the 
Austrian? ” 

“Yes, sir; especially that Christian An- 
derson, in the mate’s watch, that claimed 
to be able to steer and then couldn’t box 
the compass to save his life.” 

The captain made no answer, and the 
steward withdrew. 

“George! it’s not a bad idea,” mused 
Pitkin. “It would do those three ‘able 
seamen’ good to meet the Old Man of the 
Seas, I honestly believe.” 


Crossing the Line. 


6 3 


The more thought he gave the matter, 
the better he liked it; and by breakfast 
time, when the captain, his sister, and the 
mate gathered about the table, the former 
had arranged in his mind the principal 
details of the ceremonies which he decided 
should take place that morning. 

Miss Pitkin did not receive the narra- 
tion of her brother’s plans with the ap- 
proval he had expected; in fact, she was 
in a decidedly unpleasant frame of mind. 

“Why, Rosy, you seem out of sorts this 
morning. I thought you’d be pleased to 
hear that Neptune was coming aboard.” 

“Neptune, indeed! The Flying Dutch- 
man will be the next thing on the pro- 
gramme, I suppose. And as for being out 
of sorts — Charles Pitkin, are you aware 
that this is the first morning for two weeks 
that you have not resembled a thunder- 
cloud? ” 

“Perhaps; but Pve had reason to look 
black. Now the Doldrums are done with, 
Pm as merry as a lark, and you ought to 
be, too.” 


164 


Crossing the Line. 


“You are mistaken. That beast of a 
cat has killed my poor canary ” 

Miss Rose said this in a tone of mingled 
anger and grief, looking hard at her coffee- 
cup meanwhile. She seldom indulged in 
the feminine weakness of tears, or a few 
would doubtless have been shed now as a 
tribute to the departed canary. 

“Pshaw! that’s too bad, Rose,” said 
the captain, sympathetically. “Shall we 
kill the cat? I detest the stealthy, cold- 
blooded creatures, and this one does 
nothing but lie around in the sun all day 
instead of catching rats.” 

“No, Charles, we will not do that. I 
came near throwing her overboard my- 
self, but I suppose the creature was only 
following her instincts. I must try and 
bear it.” 

Miss Pitkin had celebrated some forty 
birthdays, but the years had touched her 
lightly, and her charms, though mature, 
were not inconsiderable. A plump, well- 
rounded figure, fresh complexion, black 
eyes and hair, combined wiih regular feat- 
ures, made an attractive whole, the one 


Crossing the Line . 


i6 5 

serious blemish of which was an habitual 
expression of firmness and decision which 
was so strong as to be almost masculine. 
She had four brothers, all younger than 
herself, and on the early death of their 
father and mother, Rose assumed the cares 
of housekeeping and the bringing up of the 
younger children. Thus she had come to 
be looked up to by her brothers, and re- 
garded rather in the light of a parent than 
as a sister. 

As they left the table she said: “I am 
going to overhaul the store-room. It needs 
to be done, and will keep me from think- 
ing of poor Goldie.” 

“But you’ll return to the deck when 
Neptune comes aboard?” 

“I’m in no humor for any such tom- 
foolery. Perhaps, between you all, you 
may manage to get up a snowstorm, or 
have an earthquake when we cross the 
Line.” 

u But wait, Rosy, I want to ask a favor.” 

The lady vanished, and was soon delv- 
ing among lime-juice, guava jelly, apples, 
potted meats, and sundry other stores. 


Crossing the Line. 


1 66 

There was something strangely incon- 
gruous in such a woman being addressed 
by so childish and undignified a name as 
Rosy, but her brother had so called her 
when scarcely able to toddle about, and 
now that he was thirty, she was “Rosy” 
still. 

Time was, when no craft of any descrip- 
tion crossed the Equator without having 
all the landsmen on board introduced to 
the royal Neptune; but the good old cus- 
tom has been gradually falling into disuse, 
and in this prosaic age the ceremony of 
“ Crossing the Line ” is rarely observed. 

Captain Pitkin decided that Fritz, the 
carpenter, should be metamorphosed into 
King Neptune — principally because he was 
large and massive, and had a long, thick 
beard. Fritz was an excellent carpenter, 
though his mental development was far 
from being on a par with his physical. 
However, he would look the part, and 
that was no small item. 

His majesty always comes aboard with 
an attendant, and here it was that Pitkin 
hit upon an original and brilliant idea. He 


Crossing the Line . 167 

had been humming an old song whose first 
verse runs: 

“ ’Twas Friday morn when we set sail, 

And we were not far from the land 
When the captain spied a lovely mermaid 
With a comb and a glass in her hand.” 

These words ran in his head some time, 
until he finally exclaimed: “Well, I’ll 
‘spy a mermaid,’ too, though she may not 
be very lovely. Yes, a mermaid shall 
come aboard this bark to-day with Father 
Neptune.” 

He congratulated himself upon this 
happy thought and set about carrying it 
into execution. There was but one woman 
aboard — his sister — and her assuming 
the role of mermaid was, of course, not to 
be thought of. Among the crew was a 
bright, good-looking fellow, known as 
Mike — just the man to make an accept- 
able mermaid. In stature he was some- 
what below the medium height, but well 
proportioned and with rather attractive 
features. He was much tanned, of course, 
and his expression was decidedly bolder 
than is thought pleasing in one of the fair 


68 


Crossing the Line . 


sex; but these were minor difficulties in 
comparison with the great question, How 
to obtain suitable clothes? The captain 
solved this, as he thought, by deciding to 
ask his sister for the loan of some of her 
old skirts and waists, but she had buried 
herself in the store-room before he had 
time to prefer his request. This was just 
as well, he concluded, for in her present 
humor he would have met with a peremp- 
tory refusal. 

So, having ascertained that Rose was 
engaged in hauling the steward over the 
coals for misplacing a case of honey and 
leaving matches where the rats could get 
at them, the captain entered his sister's 
room. He felt rather guilty, but suitable 
attire for the mermaid must be had, and 
he tried to think that “ Rosy wouldn’t 
mind,” — hoping, nevertheless, that the 
ceremonies would be over before she came 
on deck. 

“What a lot of clothes women have,” 
he soliloquized, examining the various 
gowns and other apparel hanging on pegs. 
His sister’s best garments were laid away 


Crossing the Line. 


169 


in her trunks, and he spent considerable 
time in trying to choose what seemed to 
be the least valuable skirt and waist among 
the lot. He finally selected an old black 
alpaca for which Rose cared little, and a 
red dressing jacket for which she cared a 
great deal — it was the one she slipped on 
every morning when combing her hair. 
Just as he was leaving a green veil caught 
his eye. 

u That will make Mike look mysteri- 
ous,” he thought. He took it, bundled 
the things up in a newspaper, and Mr. 
Rivers, the mate, conveyed them forward. 

The morning was hot, but a fine breeze 
tempered the heat and prevented discom- 
fort. The seas chased each other along 
the vessel’s sides, and occasionally sobbed 
and gurgled in the lee scuppers as the 
bark leaned over to port. Just as the man 
at the wheel struck five bells, two strange 
figures climbed over the bows and gained 
the forecastle deck. They were the Old 
Man of the Seas and his companion. 

The royal Neptune’s head was encircled 
by an elaborate wooden crown, painted 


— 12 


iyo Crossing the Line. 

green, about which were twined several 
pieces of sea-weed. His long beard was 
carefully combed out, and swept down 
upon his chest with a truly patriarchal air. 
The principal garment was a long green 
toga (formerly a piano-cover), which ex- 
tended from the neck to the heels, and was 
ornamented with sea-weed stitched on in 
various fantastic shapes. The arms and 
feet of the royal personage were entirely 
bare, and in his right hand he carried a 
substantial sceptre some five feet in length, 
having three prongs at the upper end. 

Neptune’s companion was a sight to be- 
hold. From the crown of her head to her 
waist, floated a wealth of yellow hair, of 
which any mermaid might well have 
been proud. This telling effect had been 
achieved by unbraiding and combing out 
several strands of sennit. The dressing- 
jacket and the alpaca skirt did not seem 
exactly “the thing” for a sea-nymph, and 
yet they fitted as well as could have been 
expected, except that the jacket was too 
tight across the shoulders. A straw hat 
covered with sea-weed was perched upon 


Crossing the JLine. 


i 7 I 


the damsel’s head, and the green veil con- 
cealed the fact that she had been freshly 
shaven. Her feet were encased in a pair 
of knit slippers. Depending from a belt 
around her waist were a small cracked 
hand-glass, a comb, and a flying-fish which 
had fallen on the deck that morning. 

“Mariners, behold Neptune, the Ruler 
of the Seas, and his daughter, the beauti- 
ful Mermaid of St. Paul’s Rocks! ” 

Neptune made this announcement in a 
deep bass voice, and Captain Pitkin and 
the mate bowed low before the two august 
personages. 

“Your majesty has conferred an un- 
speakable honor in deigning to come 
aboard,” answered Pitkin. “Will it please 
you to accompany us to the main deck, 
where some slight preparation has been 
made for your reception?” 

The captain and mate led the way, fol- 
lowed by Neptune and his daughter. The 
former held his head high in the air and 
looked neither to the right nor to the left, 
while the Mermaid walked with a mincing 


172 


Crossing the Line. 


gait and twined her long hair about her 
fingers. 

All hands were assembled in the waist, 
eager to see the siren and her father, and 
as the quartette approached, the crew 
winked, nudged each other, and cast 
meaning glances at the three “ candi- 
dates,” — Oscar, Christian and Josef, — 
who formed a little group by themselves. 

A low platform had been constructed 
about the capstan, and when Neptune 
took his seat upon the brass surface of the 
latter, his appearance was really imposing. 
A cloth-covered box had been provided 
for the Mermaid, but she disdained it, and 
leaned gracefully against the throne. 

“And what bold craft have we here, 
which thus invades our domain and hopes 
to cross the Line with landsmen aboard, — 
for the wrinkles in this vessel’s copper 
prove that more than one lubber stands 
before us!*’ 

Neptune delivered this speech in accents 
of wrath, and brought his sceptre down 
with such force that those nearest fell 
back a few steps. 


Let the landsmen come before us!” commanded Neptune. 





Crossing the Line. 


>73 


“We are the barkentine Mohawk , sire, 
from Portland for Buenos Avres, and your 
majesty’s keen perception has not erred in 
assuming that there are landsmen aboard. 
I cheerfully relinquish to you the freedom 
of the vessel, and trust that all aliens here 
will shortly be transformed into loyal sub- 
jects.” 

The captain bowed and withdrew to the 
poop, where he had an excellent view and 
could hear all that was said. 

“Let the landsmen come before us,” 
commanded Neptune. 

But the trio hesitated, evidently not 
relishing the aspect of affairs. All three 
possessed a certain amount of common 
sense, — though mostly latent, — and half- 
suspected that King Neptune and the car- 
penter were one and the same. But the 
silent female figure puzzled them com- 
pletely, for the Mermaid, although uncon- 
ventional in appearance, was so cleverly 
arrayed that the illusion was quite perfect. 

Josef timidly whispered a few words to 
Oscar, but before he could reply, Neptune 
stamped his foot. Royalty cannot brook 


I 74 


Crossing the Line . 


delay, and at this token of displeasure, 
half a dozen of the crew seized Oscar, 
Josef and Christian, and dragged them 
before the throne. The two former were 
conducted to one side in obedience to 
Neptune’s gesture, while Christiam re- 
mained standing before the frowning mon- 
arch. 

A slight hitch now occurred, caused by 
Neptune forgetting his lines. He was un- 
equal to the task of extemporizing, and 
the more he tried to remember what 
“came next,” the more confused he be- 
came. His majesty glared about, his face 
meanwhile becoming red with embarrass- 
ment, which poor Christian attributed to 
rage. The Mermaid was equal to the 
emergency, and came to her father’s res- 
cue. 

Mike was something of a ventriloquist, 
and when the order was issued “Minion, 
box the compass!” Christian was not the 
only one who stared in amazement, won- 
dering whence the strange voice proceed- 
ed. He had never been called by such a 
name before, and was in much doubt as to 


Crossing the Line. 


1 75 


whether he was the one addressed. The 
Mermaid whispered something in Nep- 
tune’s ear, and the latter, tapping the 
culprit with his sceptre, commanded: 
“Answer, varlet, and quickly! ” 

The compass was a Chinese puzzle to 
Christian , 1 but he dared not remain silent, 
and began desperately: “North, north- 
east, east by north-east, east by east, — ” 

Here the crew set up a roar of derision, 
and the mate remarked: “A fine able 
seaman you are. The shipping -master 
that put you aboard this bark ought to 


i. Many readers may fancy this an exaggeration, and 
marvel that such a man should be accepted. The author 
recently left port on a large American ship bound on a 
long voyage, and next day it was discovered that there 
were four “able seamen” in the forecastle who knew no 
more of steering by compass than does an infant, and 
could not even name the yards and sails correctly. Like 
the rest of the crew, they had been signed and placed on 
board by a U. S. Shipping Commissioner, who had taken 
the usual precaution of first getting them drunk. The 
captain has the privilege of rejecting any incompetent 
seamen, but in this case the test questions were of no use 
because of the men being intoxicated. One of them 
looked quite intelligent, but next day when they became 
sober, their defects were discovered. It was then too 
late to get rid of them, and for several months the officers 
had to put up with stupidity and incapacity of the gross- 
est character. Such cases are not rare, as shipping com- 
missioners can usually mulct “greenhorns” of at least 
$io as the price of getting them a ship. 


17 6 


Crossing the Line. 


be sent around the world as mate of a 
ship with two dozen like you for a crew! ” 

Neptune had by this time got his bear- 
ings, and asked: 

“Does the sun cross the equator on the 
2 1 st of June, or the 21st day of Decem- 
ber?” 

“June,” hazarded Christian. 

“ What route must a steamer take to 
go from New York to Honolulu in eight 
days? ”, 

“ The middle route.” 

“ Why is the gulf-stream always full of 
sharks? ” 

“ I never knew the reason, sir.” 

“ What year was the Panama Canal 
discovered? ” 

“I — I don’t know.” 

“ What time does the moon rise at the 
South Pole?” 

No answer. 

“ How many wrecks are there on the 
bottom between here and Pitcairn Island?” 

“ There must be a good many, sir.” 

Half a dozen equally absurd questions 
followed, most of which the wisdom of 


Crossing the Line. 


177 


Minerva could not have answered cor- 
rectly. 

“Enough; away with him to the shav- 
ing-chair! ” finally cried Neptune. “He’s 
the most unpromising subject we ever 
came across, and calls me ‘ sir,’ instead of 
i your majesty! ’ ” 

An old steamer chair had been tilted 
back, and the victim — for such he now 
considered himself — was marched to it, 
and requested to sit down. Behind this 
chair stood a large wash-tub filled with 
water, but the tarpaulin spread over it 
concealed this fact. 

The Mermaid now produced a tar-pot, 
in which she swished a brush about until 
the “lather” was of the right consistency. 
A piece of sacking having been spread 
over the occupant of the chair, the operator 
brandished her brush and prepared to be- 
gin. 

“I don’t need to — to be shaved,” gasped 
Christian. 

This was true, for he was one of those 
men — mostly Finns and Scandinavians — 


178 


Crossing the Line . 


who couldn’t have raised a beard had his 
life depended on it. A few colorless hairs 
appeared on his cheeks and upper lip, 
which the Mermaid proceeded to count 
aloud. 

“ Twenty -nine! ” she announced, con- 
temptuously. “ Rather different, father 
dear, from the visages of Columbus, Ma- 
gellan, and Vasco de Gama, upon whom I 
operated in centuries gone by.” 

She now lathered the face of the squirm- 
ing Christian, laying on the tar with the 
peculiar slapping sound made by an ex- 
perienced painter when applying a coat of 
paint to a flat surface. 

The patient had by this time resigned 
all hope, and betrayed little interest when 
the brush was laid aside for the razor. 
This was a marline-spike, and the Mer- 
maid gave it an edge — if a round object 
can be said to have an edge — by stropping 
it on a capstan bar which one of the crew 
had placed in the capstan. She then held 
the cracked hand-glass before Christian’s 
face, that he might see how he looked, and 
proceeded to shave him. * This was a de- 


Crossing the Line . 1 79 

cided relief, and the man wondered if it 
was not the end of the performance. 

Vain hope! Scarcely had the lather 
been scraped off, when two of the crew 
advanced to the tub and removed the tar- 
paulin. They then tipped the chair back 
suddenly, causing its occupant to slide 
into the tub, where he was immersed all 
but the feet. He was quickly drawn out 
and hustled forward on the port side, di- 
rectly beneath the fore yard. A bowline 
had been rigged up at the extremity of 
the yard-arm overhanging the water, and 
the ends of the rope hung down to the 
deck. One end was made fast around 
Christian just beneath the arms, and a 
dozen hands grasped the other end amidst 
the most uproarous hilarity. 

An old salt with bare feet, brass rings 
in his ears, and a red cotton handkerchief 
wound about his head, now ascended to the 
roof of the forward house and played a 
wild air upon a wheezy violin. He danced 
about at the same time, and sang in a hur- 
ricane voice and with great gusto, the first 
verse of a song whose subject was: “The 


i8o 


Crossing the Line . 


Baptism of Captain Kidd.” Everyone 
joined in the chorus, even Neptune and 
his daughter, while the shrieking Chris- 
tian was hoisted up to the yard-arm. 
There he remained suspended between 
sea and sky while the old salt rendered 
another verse, and then, as all hands took 
up the refrain, the rope was slackened 
away. Three times was the Swede ducked 
in the heaving swell, before being drawn 
up and lowered on deck again. He was 
then released, and patted on the back by 
the Mermaid, who said patronizingly: 

u My son, you are a lubber no more, — 
in name at least, — and can now consider 
yourself a true subject of Neptune.” 

The new subject was past speech, but 
he drew a deep breath of relief and got 
upon the galley roof, where he sat down 
to dry, as well as to see what befell Oscar 
and Josef. He had not been hurt in the 
least, but, as some one has said, “A man 
might as well be killed as scared to death.” 

The other two felt that their time had 
come. At first they had watched the pro- 
ceedings with great interest, which gradu- 


Crossing the Line. 181 

ally changed to dismay, and finally gave 
place to absolute terror. That Christian 
was to be hanged or drowned, they did 
not in the least doubt; and just as he was 
ducked for the third time, Oscar gave a 
yell and broke from his guards, who were 
absorbed in watching the rites. He ran 
to the main rigging and darted up it as 
though Satan were at his heels. The 
guards were about to pursue, when they 
remembered Josef, and the latter’s break 
for liberty was nipped in the bud. 

Neptune, the Mermaid and attendants 
now came aft, and many volunteers pre- 
sented themselves to bring Oscar down 
from the top-mast head, whither he had 
climbed with an alacrity entirely foreign 
to his nature The royal personages con- 
sulted together and announced that Josef 
would be “finished” before Oscar was 
taken in hand. So everybody gathered 
about the throne; even the cat, who sat 
gravely upon her haunches and licked her 
chops as though desiring another canary. 

A number of ridiculous questions were 
propounded to Josef, who had a very im- 


82 


Crossing the Line. 


perfect knowledge of English, and made 
worse work than Christian in answering 
them. He was hurried to the chair, and 
the tar-bucket again brought into requi- 
sition. 

Meanwhile Miss Pitkin had inspected 
the store-room thoroughly, and now came 
up the companion-way with a comfortable 
sense of duty performed. She scanned the 
horizon line for a sail, took a look at the 
compass, and then started to find her 
brother. There he was on the poop, and 
she ascended thither. 

“Why, what is the matter, Charles? 
Why are all hands in the waist? Oh, I 
remember, — Neptune.” 

The captain was relieved at seeing his 
sister smile, and began to hope that she 
was rallying from the grief and ill-temper 
into which the canary’s death had thrown 
her. Suddenly, through the crowd of 
figures pressing around the throne, she 
caught a glimpse of the Mermaid. Sur- 
prise at sight of this extraordinary vision 
kept her silent a moment, when she called 


Crossing ihe Line . 183 

out: “Mr. Rivers, what is that creature, — 
man or woman? ” 

The Mermaid’s wit got the better of her 
discretion, and she answered, before the 
mate could reply, “Neither one, ma’am: 
I’m ’alf and ’alf, like the ale and stout we 
mix together in Liverpool, or like one of 
those morphodite 1 brigs, that’s part brig 
and part schooner.” 

The crew respectfully fell back at sight 
of Miss Pitkin, and the nymph was ex- 
posed to view. Rose instantly detected 
the deception, and in spite of the cleverly 
disguised voice, her feminine facility for 
jumping at conclusions told her that Mike 
was the speaker. Without knowing why, 
she was as absolutely certain of this fact 
as of her own name. Then she recognized 
the dressing jacket! The lady could 
hardly believe the evidence of her senses; 
but it was not her habit to remain in doubt 
if it could be avoided, and she hurried 
from the poop to verify her suspicions. 

The captain was considerably disturbed 

1. The common nautical contraction of “hermaphro- 
dite.” 


184 


Crossing the Line . 


by the expression of his sister’s face, and 
called out : “ Don’t do anything rash, Rosy ; 
it’s only a mermaid. 

“Hang that fool of a Mike,” he mut- 
tered. “Why couldn’t he have kept quiet? 
I wish I’d never heard of mermaids or any- 
thing of the sort.” 

Miss Pitkin sought her room and took 
a hurried inventory of her possessions. 
Yes, what she deemed impossible had oc- 
curred; one of the crew had actually dared 
to invade the sanctity of the cabin — her 
own room, even — and deliberately steal 
her clothes! The theft, audacious as it 
seemed, was yet of secondar}^ importance 
compared to the outrageous breach of dis- 
cipline it involved. At this rate the crew 
would soon want to dine with the captain, 
or sit in easy chairs upon the quarter-deck! 

“And there sat my brother on the poop 
with his eyes open, and never even noticed 
that that creature was wearing his sister’s 
clothes!” she thought, surprise for the 
moment taking the place of indignation. 

She gained the main deck, and advanced 
towards the capstan, where the ceremonies 


Crossing- the Line. 


85 


had been resumed the moment she went 
below. Her black eyes flashed ominously, 
and the crew, with a common impulse, 
fled in all directions, though none could 
have told precisely what they were fleeing 
from. The two mates thought it prudent 
to withdraw to their rooms, and the guilty 
Mermaid set down the tar bucket and es- 
caped, leaving Josef in the chair with but 
one side of his face lathered. Neptune 
alone remained to face the enemy, not 
being actuated by bravery so much as by 
astonishment at the sudden rout of his at- 
tendants. While the Ruler of the Seas 
sat upon the throne trying to decide what 
to do, Miss Pitkin stepped up and surveyed 
him with scornful amusement. There was 
her green veil in his left hand, whither it 
had been thrust by the Mermaid! 

Unable longer to control her indigna- 
tion, Rose seized the tar brush, exclaim- 
ing, “Take that, you great overgrown 
dunce.” Suiting the action to the word, 
she gave his majesty’s cheek a sound 
slap; which insult, instead of rousing him, 
appeared to befog his faculties still more. 

—13 


Crossing the Line . 


1 86 

She plucked the sceptre from the mon- 
arch’s palsied hand, knocked the crown 
from his head, and threw both overboard. 

Neptune’s daughter had taken refuge 
in the carpenter shop, but the red jacket 
caught Miss Pitkin’s eye as she passed the 
window. Pursued and pursuer darted 
through the room and out of the opposite 
door, but as Rose was used to skirts and 
the nymph was not, the latter was at a 
disadvantage. Thrice was she nearly 
thrown down by the alpaca, until gather- 
ing it up in one hand, she dashed to the 
rigging, and attempted to ascend. Miss 
Pitkin was close behind, and made a pass 
at the Mermaid with a harpoon she had 
picked up; the end catching in the dam- 
sel’s hair, which all came off, together 
with her hat. The looking glass fell to 
the deck and was shivered into fragments. 
There was the erstwhile siren part way up 
the rigging, all her wit, confidence and 
gayety gone; while the very members of 
the crew who had so lately admired her, 
now jeered and derided from the other side 
of the deck. 


Crossing the Line. 


187 


“ It will go hard with you when we 
reach port ! ” cried the irate lady, when 
she had recovered her breath; “and if 
Captain Pitkin doesn’t have you in irons 
before night, he’s not the man I take 
him for. You brazen thief, to steal my 
clothes! ” 

“ I never did steal a thing of anybody 
aft since I came aboard, ma’am. Do you 
think I’d be going into the cabin where 
I’ve no business, and risk being caught? 
I’m no fool. The captain told me all I 
had to do was to be a mermaid (may the 
Virgin forgive me), and he’d furnish the 
togs.” 

“ Do you mean to say that Captain Pit- 
kin gave you those clothes? ” 

“ He sent them to the fo’k’sl, ma’am, 
this very morning.” 

“Would my brother do such a thing? ” 
Rose asked herself, as she again took her 
way aft. 

The captain was invisible. In fact, he 
had retired to his room, and was endeavor- 
ing to banish the present by a perusal of 
the fascinating adventures of D’Artagnan 


1 88 Crossing the Line. 

and his reckless companions. He was 
roused by a knock at the door, but before 
he could say “Come in,” his sister entered. 

The captain took in the situation at a 
glance, and knew he was in for it. The 
3 T ears seemed to roll back, and as Rose 
marched him to the sofa he imagined him- 
self a boy of ten, and the subject of well- 
merited chastisement. He made a full 
confession, asked to be forgiven, and swore 
never again to hold any intercourse with 
Neptune or his relatives. He could not 
help adding: “It was partly your fault, 
though, for if you hadn’t flounced out of 
the room at breakfast, I should have had 
a chance to ask for the use of the clothes. 
Are they completely ruined? Can’t they 
be washed? ” 

“ Are they ruined ? Do you suppose I 
will ever touch them again after that Mike 
has worn them? And have they not been 
in the forecastle? ” 

Rose whispered a single word in her 
brother’s ear. It was the name of a crea- 
ture all mention of which is strictly tabood 
in good society; or, if referred to at all, it 


Crossing the Line. 


189 


is usually between housewives exchanging 
confidences, and then only with bated 
breath. “I cannot name ’t but I shall 
offend,” and it suffices to say that it is a 
certain little animal which invariably in- 
habits ships’ forecastles, though on all 
well-regulated craft it never invades the 
cabin. 

“ Good heavens, Rose, I never thought 
of that,” replied the captain, looking seri- 
ous. “ But never mind, it can’t be helped, 
and you shall have what clothes you want 
in Buenos Ayres, if you can find anything 
to suit.” 

Rose was fond of her brother — in her 
own way, — and his straight-forward con- 
fession mollified her considerably. She 
did not yet allow this to appear, however, 
but announced sternly: 

“After the manner in which you have 
made away with my garments, Charles, I 
very much doubt whether I shall make 
another voyage on the Mohawk . It would 
serve you right if I left you to your own 
devices. You could mend your clothes, 
lose your pipes, go without my desserts, 


190 


Crossing the Line. 


and live on hash and lobscouse for years 
to come, besides having the satisfaction of 
knowing that the steward was secretly 
drinking bottles of ale and beer, and mak- 
ing way with provisions-” 

The captain made a gesture as if to 
banish some disagreeable remembrance. 

“Don’t, Rosy, — I couldn’t endure to live 
the way I used to. It seemed all right 
then, but since you’ve taken the cook, and 
steward and cabin in hand, it’s like a dif- 
ferent vessel.” 

This admission pleased Rose, and she 
answered, “Well, we shall see,” in tones 
which informed the captain that he was 
forgiven. 

He put his arm about his sister’s waist 
and escorted her to the deck, with a sen- 
sation of having recovered a treasure 
whose worth had not been fully appreci- 
ated. 

“ It’s curious how one woman can upset 
everything, and raise Pandemonium in no 
time,” he said, aside to Mr. Rivers, a few 
moments later. 

Orders were given for the wash-tub to 


Crossing the Line. 19 1 

be restored to its proper place, the plat- 
form about the capstan to be removed, 
and for everything to resume its wonted 
appearance. 

As for Christian, Oscar and Josef, they 
might very appropriately have been likened 
to the three degrees of thankfulness. Chris- 
tian, drying himself on the galley roof, 
represented the positive degree, and was 
merely thankful that Neptune had got 
through with him without taking his life. 
Josef, with one cheek lathered, felt like a 
fish that has been hooked, and then suc- 
ceeds in escaping. He looked rather woe- 
begone, but was thankful indeed to have 
escaped with such comparative comfort. 
But Oscar, who had now ventured part 
way down the main mast, had fairly baffled 
Neptune and his daughter; and had there 
been any degree beyond the superlative, 
it could not have been too strong to ex- 
press the state of his feelings. Hence- 
forth he regarded Miss Pitkin as a de- 
liverer, and had she been a goddess, 
his veneration could scarcely have been 
greater. 


192 


Crossing the Line. 


The Mohawk crossed the Line during 
the afternoon on the 30th meridian of 
west longitude, and for all we know, 
Oscar and Josef are lubbers yet. 



The trades of 
the Indian Ocean 
usually blow with 
great regularity 
except at the semi- 
annual change of the monsoons, and the 
bark Harvester was slipping easily along 
at a six-knot rate on her voyage from 
Singapore to New York. 

It was the second dog-watch; that time 
at sea when, the day’s work being over, 
decks swept up, and supper eaten, all 
hands bring out their pipes and gather in 
groups to discuss passing events, or to 
while away the twilight hour in telling 
stories. 


*94 


Missing. 


Job, the negro cook, sat in the galle}' 
door singing one of the plaintive melodies 
of his race. An old banjo, played as only 
a darky can play that instrument, furnished 
the accompaniment. The singer’s voice 
was rich and mellow, and the simple notes 
floated out on the still evening air with a 
soothing charm that went straight to the 
heart, and struck many a forgotten chord 
in the breasts of the four rough seamen 
who comprised his audience. Near the 
booby hatch were gathered the mate, the 
bo’s’un and the steward; each relating in 
turn some reminiscence or bit of adventure 
connected with his past life. Many of these 
provoked roars of laughter, while the con- 
clusion of a few was followed by a period 
of silence rendered more eloquent by a 
shake of the head or a sigh. That was 
the way these hardy men received the 
narration of some half- forgotten ocean 
tragedy. 

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” the steward was 
saying, “I recollect hearing of those two 
gales off Cape Flattery, now you speak of 
it. About ’87, wasn’t it? ” 


Missing . 


*95 

The mate thought a moment before he 
answered: “It was in the spring of ’87, 
in the first of those gales, that the ship 
St. Lawrence went to the bottom. If I 
live to be a hundred I’ll never forget it; 
but if I should happen to, here’s something 
that’ll make me remember.” 

He pushed back the thick hair from his 
forehead and revealed an ugly -looking 
scar of a peculiar reddish-brown color. 
“ Now you know why I wear my hair 
long even in the tropics,” he said. “I’ve 
not got much beauty to boast of, maybe, 
but I’m a little sensitive about that cursed 
mark all the same. I hate to think of it!” 

The steward seemed astonished. “ The 
St. Lawrence ! You were on that ship, 
Mr. Morgan?” he exclaimed, in accents 
that betrayed his incredulity. 

“ I was mate of her on her last four 
voyages.” 

“We were in Antwerp at the time, but 
I always understood that all hands were 
lost with her.” 

“All but the carpenter and me.” 


196 


Missing. 


He rose, emptied his pipe, and appeared 
anxious to drop the subject, but the curi- 
osity of the steward led him to ask how 
those two had managed to escape. The 
bo’s’un seconded the request, so Morgan 
again seated himself, and after a short 
silence related the affair in these words: 

The Si. Lawrence was a neat little ship 
— you may have seen her, — and Captain 
Fairley was one of the finest men I ever 
met, — quiet, and a man of few words, but 
when he said a thing he meant it. I didn’t 
like his wife so well, but his daughter, 
Miss Marion, — oh, she was a lovely girl. 
She’d never lived on shore much, and had 
that shy, retiring disposition that you often 
see in such cases, where the captain’s chil- 
dren always go with him and have nobody 
of their own age to associate with. She 
never hankered after shore life though, 
and seemed perfectly happy to be always 
at sea. 

Miss Marion had quite a liking for me, 
and many and many an evening would she 
pace the deck in my watch, telling me the 
names of the different stars and how far 


Missing. 


97 


off some of them were, and all such things. 
That was her favorite study — astronomy. 
Then she read a great deal and used to 
tell me about her books. All the tidies 
for the cabin chairs were made by her 
hands. You remember that silk hanker- 
chief I showed you, — that one with the M 
embroidered on it? She worked that 
letter and gave me the handkerchief on my 
birthday. It was the first birthday pres- 
ent I ever got, and I guess it’ll be the last. 
Poor girl! she wasn’t quite seventeen 
when the accident happened. 

We came across from Hong Kong to 
San Francisco and found that the ship had 
been chartered to load coal on Puget 
Sound. We arrived at Nanaimo near the 
end of March. In those days there were 
no stevedores at most of the coal ports on 
the Sound, and it was the captain’s or 
mate’s business to superintend the work oi 
the crew in loading the vessel. Captain 
Fairley had to go to Tacoma on some 
business matter, and as ill-luck would have 
it, I was taken sick the day after we got 
to Nanaimo, and the doctor made me 


9 8 


Missing. 


turn in. 1 wasn’t able to get out of that 
bunk for ten days, with the result that the 
second mate had charge of loading the 
ship. 

I won’t say anything here against Ike 
Summers, — all of us have our failings, — 
but what I do say is this: his being drunk 
while she was loading caused one of the 
worst accidents on record, and the loss of 
one of the finest ships I ever saw. Half 
of the crew were drunk of course, and 
twenty-six hundred tons of coal were 
pitched in at random. I’ll swear she 
wasn’t half trimmed, though I was just 
able to get about the morning we sailed. 
Captain Fairley, his wife and Miss Marion 
got back from Tacoma the afternoon be- 
fore, and I told him that night it was my 
opinion that the second mate had been 
drinking a good deal. He looked serious, 
but Ike swore everything was all right, — 
he’d got pretty well sobered up that after- 
noon, — and as the clearance papers had 
been taken out, the captain concluded to 
sail next day. He wanted to get to San 
Francisco as quickly as possible, for we’d 


Missing. 


1 99 


been chartered to load from there to New 
York. If it hadn’t been for that, I’ve al- 
ways thought the captain would have 
looked into the way the cargo had been 
stowed. He must have suspected some- 
thing was wrong, for he wanted Mrs. 
Fairley and Miss Marion to go back by 
rail, but they wouldn’t hear of it. 

So we were towed to sea one fine April 
morning, having for company a crazy old 
bark named the Lizzie Williams. The 
St. Lawrence was rated A-i at Lloyd’s, 
and that bark probably had no rating at 
all, but the old hulk was a good deal more 
fit to go to sea that morning than we were, 
as it soon turned out. Her cargo was 
stowed right, even if she did have to be 
pumped out three times a day. 

Ike Summers had the afternoon watch, 
and when I turned in after dinner the tug 
had just cast us off, and there was hardly 
a cloud in the sky. I heard Captain Fair- 
ley tell his wife that we must be going to 
have a blow on account of the falling 
glass, but he thought it wouldn’t amount 
to much. Miss Marion was doing some 


200 


Missing. 


fancy work, I remember, and Ike had just 
ordered some of his men to spread an old 
cro’-jack out on deck to be mended. It 
was a warm, pleasant day, and the sun 
shone on the sails of the Lizzie Williams 
as she slumped along like an old canal 
boat a few miles to leeward. She was the 
last thing I saw before I went to my room 
and turned in. I soon dropped off, being 
dead tired and not very strong yet after 
my sickness. 

How long my sleep lasted don’t matter, 
— it seemed about ten minutes, but must 
have been several hours, — when I was 
roused by the steward shaking me and 
yelling “Come on deck, Mr. Morgan, for 
God’s sake!” That brought me to my 
senses in an instant, and only stopping to 
throw on my shoes, I ran out. 

What a change! A heavy squall was 
bearing down, and all hands were working 
like demons to get the ship stripped. Some 
were aloft cutting away the earings so as 
to let the sails go overboard, while others 
were letting go halyards, sheets and tacks. 
A kind of fog or mist was settling down, 


Missing. 


201 


and the sails slatting against the masts 
and shrouds made a horrible din, to say 
nothing of the hoarse orders that the cap- 
tain and Ike were bawling out. 

I ran up the shrouds to help Summers 
cut away the mains’il. 

“ Good G — , Ike, you must have been 
mad to let that squall catch the ship with 
all sail on. Where was the captain?” I 
cried. 

“ He was below. I just called him. It 
came faster than I reckoned on.” 

“ You’ve done it this time! If we ar’n’t 
dismasted it won’t be your fault.” 

We got the mains’il loose, and I had just 
slid down the backstay to the deck when 
Miss Marion came running up with face as 
white as a sheet, but perfectly cool. 

“ Tell me what I can do to help,” she 
implored. 

u Close the lazarette hatchway,” I an- 
swered, “and see all the cabin windows 
and skylights shut. Then stay below.” 

Mrs. Fairley was a very nervous woman, 
and the suddenness of the affair had upset 
her completely. There she stood at the 


202 


Missing. 


break of the poop clinging to a tops’il 
brace, and literally paralyzed with terror. 
Miss Marion went to her mother’s assist- 
ance, and at the same moment the captain 
ordered me to take my watch and haul up 
the fores’il. They were the last words I 
ever heard him speak. 

All this had happened within two or 
three minutes of my coming on deck, and 
but few of the light sails had been cut 
away when I got some of my watch at 
work on the fores’il. The first thing I 
knew, an extra heavy gust struck the ship 
and heeled her over about twenty-five de- 
grees. That wasn’t much, but I tell you 
a lump came in my throat the next second 
when I heard a dull roar in the hold be- 
neath. All of us knew what that muffled 
sound meant — the cargo had shifted! 

Of course the ship went clear over on 
her side then, and the squall broke on us 
in earnest right after. Everybody grasped 
whatever he could lay his hands on to 
keep from sliding down the deck. There 
was no sea running to speak of, and the 
chances of saving the ship were fair pro- 






Missing . 


203 


vided the squall soon passed over; but as 
the thought of Ike Summers having caused 
all this came over me, I was in such a fury 
that if he’d been near by then, I could 
have pitched him overboard, and not been 
sorry. 

I won’t speak of what we all felt as we 
clung there on different parts of the ship, 
— it had all been so sudden, — but before 
anything could be done to right her, the 
main mast broke off underneath the deck, 
ripping her all open amidships. The water 
poured in at an awful rate, and all hands 
knew the ship was doomed. 

“The boats! Cut the lashings before 
she founders!” I yelled. 

Myself and two or three more sprang 
up on the forward house, where three of 
the life-boats were made fast, and as we 
whipped out our knives I happened to look 
aft and saw the captain and steward on 
the poop trying to get the gig free before 
the ship went down. Miss Marion and 
her mother were holding to the spanker 
boom, both bearing up nobly in this awful 
crisis. I knew they would be safe in the 


204 


Missing. 


gig along with the captain, which was a 
great load off my mind. 

“How shall we get water and stores for 
the boats?” someone cried. 

How, indeed? It was impossible. 

We had just got one boat free when 
the ship gave a plunge, and we felt her 
going. Everyone was tugging at the 
boats; a few were yelling and screaming; 
and then all hands were in the water. I 
had hardly come to the surface when I 
felt a terrible blow on the head, and dimly 
realized that a piece of wreckage had 
struck me. There was a gurgling sound 
in my ears, — that was the last thing I 
recollect. 

****** 

I was lying on my back with my eyes 
open looking up at the sky. The new 
moon was shining, and a large bright star 
twinkled not far away. I vaguely felt 
that one of my hands was in the water, 
and knew that my limbs were being chafed 
by some person. A kind of dreamy stupor 
was on me, and though these ideas passed 
slowly through my btain, they seemed to 


Missing. 


205 


make no impression, and I didn’t even 
wonder where I was, or how I came there. 
Some one spoke to me. 

“Mr. Morgan, try and brace up a bit. 
You know Simms, the carpenter-” 

The voice sounded strange and un- 
natural. 

“Yes, I know Simms, the carpenter,” I 
muttered; but the words meant no more 
to me than does some senseless phrase to 
the parrot that mechanically repeats it. 

“Them’s the first words you’ve spoke, 
sir. Now let me pour a little whiskey 
down your throat.” 

The whiskey must have done me good, 
for I began to get my senses back after a 
while and became conscious of a terrible 
throbbing in my head. Putting my hand 
to my forehead where the pain was, my 
fingers came in contact with blood. That 
brought me round more than anything 
else, and I shut my eyes and tried hard to 
remember where I was. 

“Mr. Morgan, it won’t do to give up 
like this. We can’t be over sixty miles 


20 6 


Missing. 


from the coast, and right in the track of 
the coal fleet at that.” 

The voice sounded familiar now, and I 
knew it was the carpenter speaking. 

“How did we come here, and where are 
the rest? Where is the ship?” I asked, 
still a good deal bewildered. 

There was a groan and a short pause 
before the answer came. 

“No mortal man will ever set eyes on 
the St. Lawrence again, Mr. Morgan, nor 
on any of her crew but you and me.” 

It took me some minutes to realize those 
awful words. 

“But Captain Fairley and his family — 
they escaped?” 

“All gone, sir; all but us two.” 

“How were we saved?” I asked, as 
soon as my mind had grasped the fact 
that out of two dozen lives, ours alone 
had been spared. 

“Everything was sucked down in the 
vortex — boats and all. I held my breath 
till I nearly burst before I came to the 
surface, and there you was close beside 
me. You was just going down again, I 


Missing. 


207 


judged, when I grabbed you. A good 
ways off was Jim Parsons, but not another 
soul was to be seen. Two capstan bars 
floated near by, but I struck out for this 
big piece of the poop-deck that we’re on 
now, which was half a ship’s length off. It 
must have been wrenched loose when she 
went down. I made shift to get on it 
after a hard fight, for I daren’t leave go 
of you for fear you’d sink. You was so 
limp I allowed you must be dead, and 
your head was bloody besides. Then I 
looked for Jim, but the poor fellow was 
nowhere to be seen.” 

I owed my life to the carpenter, that 
was certain. 

“Don’t thank me any more,” said the 
brave fellow. “You’d have done as much 
for me.” 

“How long have we been here?” I said. 
“Is this the first night after the accident?” 

“Yes, sir; this time yesterday the ship 
was at Nanaimo.” 

It seemed incredible. A mere squall 
had wrecked that fine ship — a blow not 
one twentieth part as strong as she had 


208 


Missing . 


weathered hundreds of times before — and 
all on account of a shifted cargo. 

u Is there any water to drink ? ” I knew 
very well there couldn’t be, yet I asked 
the question. 

u No, Mr. Morgan. I happened to have 
this flask and an apple in my pocket, which 
is all we’ve got. If we were in mid-ocean 
now, our logs would soon be wrote up, but 
I make no doubt we’ll be picked up in a 
day or so at the most. There’s no sea on, 
so our chance is good.” 

We didn’t talk much for a long time, 
but just before daylight the carpenter, 
who had been standing up, said: u Don’t 
be excited, sir, but there’s a vessel bear- 
ing down.” 

“ Where away? Point her out!” I 
struggled up, though it made my head 
swim. 

None but a sailor would have recog- 
nized a vessel in that dark blotch away 
in the north. My heart thumped pretty 
loud when I sighted it, and realized that 
the craft was coming our way. We prayed 


Missing. 


209 


for daylight, — or I did, anyway, — and it 
was the first prayer I’d said for years. 

Well, the sun came up, and there was a 
large Englishman not four miles off. She 
couldn’t help seeing us, but we never 
stopped waving the carpenter’s coat — I 
had none — till they signalled us. No 
need to tell how we got picked up, or 
how glad we were to have a ship’s deck 
under our feet again. She proved to be 
the Scottish Glens , bound from Tacoma 
# to Hamburg, and all hands were mightily 
interested in our story, several having 
seen the St. Lawrence sail the morning 
before. 

There we were not a hundred miles from 
shore, but of course the captain wouldn’t 
put back, so there was nothing for it but 
to start on an eighteen-thousand-mile voy- 
age. We worked our passage, and an 
awful one it was as far as length goes. 

While entering the harbor of Hamburg, 
one hundred and ninety days later, a small 
boat came alongside with mail for the 
officers and crew. There was a large as- 
sortment of letters and papers bearing 


210 


Missing . 


postmarks from all parts of the world; 
but the carpenter and I got nothing, nor 
did we expect anything, for our relatives 
must have long since given us up. One 
of the officers handed me a late copy of 
the Marine Register , and in the depart- 
ment of Disasters I found this item, which 
sounded like my obituary: 

MISSING. 

St. Lawrence (ship), Fairley, which sailed 
from Puget Sound April 7 for San Fran- 
cisco, has never been heard of since, and is 
supposed to have foundered with all hands. 

Posted at Lloyd’s as missing. 


The south-east trades 
of the Pacific usually 
carry the north bound 
vessel well across the 
Line. But they had been 
failing gradually for some days; and now 
the long, low steel hull of the British ship 
Lochleven had almost ceased to move, al- 
though she was yet a good two degrees 
south of the equator. It was very pro- 
voking; the more so that she had made 
very fast time thus far, and Captain Staf- 
ford had entertained hopes of making an 
unusually quick passage. But these hopes 
were slowly vanishing. 

The remarkable feature of a calm in 
the equatorial latitudes of the Pacific is 
the interesting appearance of the water, 
which literally teems with various forms 


212 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


of animal life. It is clear and limped as 
crystal, and, viewed from the Loclileveri* s 
deck, an endless procession of strange 
creatures slowly floated by with the cur- 
rent. Two shapeless blotches of film ap- 
peared, whose only sign of life was a great 
red eye at one end. They seemed to have 
less than the consistency of jelly, and 
represented one of the lowest forms of 
animal life. Next was a curious jointed 
creature of a deep orange tint, coiled up 
like a snake. Then a fragile nautilus was 
borne along, with the delicate pink shell 
projecting above the surface like a sail, — 
“Portuguese man-of-war” seamen call it, — 
while a bunch of long tentacles hung down 
beneath. Just over the stern were two 
active little fish the size of a brook trout, 
whose bodies were blue, with wide brown 
stripes. The pair swam side by side, oc- 
casionally darting away capriciously, only 
to return in a moment. How harmless 
and innocent they looked! And yet their 
presence was a certain indication that a 
shark lurked beneath the ship. One or 
two of these pilot-fish always accompany a 
shark to find his prey and lead him to it, 
for their ugly protector is lazy and near- 
sighted, and would fare badly without 
them. Close to the ship’s side a magnifi- 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


213 


cent dolphin floated motionless in the 
translucent water; the beauty of his steel- 
blue and pale lemon tints being enhanced 
by the clear element until the splendid 
creature seemed too glorious to be real. 
So quiet was the ocean, so still the fish, 
that one might easily imagine it only the 
image of a dolphin reflected in a vast 
mirror. 

Several hundred miles to the eastward 
of where the Lochleven lay becalmed were 
the Galapagos Islands, where thousands of 
turtles assemble, lay their eggs in the sand, 
and then float away with the current; 
sleeping on the water most of the time. 
A dozen were now in view at various dis- 
tances from the ship, besides a big one that 
had just been captured, and was crawling 
awkwardly about the deck. Its great dis- 
colored shell, dead-looking eyes, and beak 
massive enough to sever a man’s wrist, 
gave little indication of the rich steaks and 
agreeable soup into which the cook prom- 
ised to convert it on the morrow. 

Howard, the captain’s seven year old 
son, considered the turtle a new kind of 
steed, and bestrode its broad back in great 
glee. The bare-footed youngster was 
brown as a berry, and carried a toy sailor 
which had been christened Lord Nelson. 


214 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


The fact that his lordship was minus an 
arm only increased the affection with 
which he had been regarded for two years 
past, when he supplanted a golden haired 
doll, which Howard soon after consigned 
to a watery grave. 

Captain Stafford had been standing by 
the main hatch, watching the turtle, and 
seeing to it that his reckless son did not 
get a finger bitten off, when he became 
sensible of a faint, almost imperceptible 
odor. It was so vague as to be almost in- 
tangible — probably not half a dozen on 
board would have noticed it even had they 
stood where the captain did then. At first 
he tried to think it might be only imagin- 
ation, and this view of the matter was 
strengthened when he walked to another 
part of the deck not far off and detected 
no odor whatever. He returned to his 
former position and sniffed the air as a 
hound does when scenting danger. Again 
that slight smell of gas. 

Captain Stafford knew what sort of a 
cargo was stowed under his feet, and from 
that moment he thought no more of the 
turtle. Walking to the carpenter-shop, he 
beckoned to its occupant. u Carpenter, get 
the main hatch off at once.” 

Cardiff coal is extraordinarily liable to 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


31 5 


spontaneous combustion, and not a few of 
the man) 7 ships that carry it from Cardiff 
and Swansea all over the world catch fire. 
Often the danger is discovered in time to 
be checked, but one of the peculiarities of 
this cargo is, that it may burn for days 
and even weeks in the center of the mass 
without giving the least sign, only to break 
forth at last in uncontrollable fury. The 
Lochleven carried 4,000 tons of this com- 
modity, consigned to San Francisco. 

The carpenter brought out his tools and 
began removing the hatch-cover, while 
such of the crew as were aloft “ tarring 
down” the rigging wondered what this 
unusual proceeding meant. The moment 
the aperture was laid open the nostrils of 
those who looked down were saluted by a 
smell like that of a sulphur match that has 
been lighted and then immediately extin- 
guished. It was not overpowering, and 
the captain was the first man to descend 
the ladder. The carpenter followed with 
an iron testing-rod, and then the mate, 
with several of his watch. The latter 
were equipped with spades. Placing his 
hand upon the coal, the captain found it 
slightly warm on the surface, and the crew 
commenced digging according to his direc- 
tions. Then the carpenter inserted the 


21 6 


A Dangerous Cargo . 


testing-rod, which was withdrawn pres- 
ently, and showed that no fire existed 
thereabout, although the coals were badly 
heated. 

“Now, carpenter, take off the other 
hatches, and use the tester in the other 
parts of the ship. And you, Mr. Maitland, 
get the rest of your watch down from 
aloft. Let them bring below every spade 
on board, and dig trenches wherever the 
coal is heated.” 

The captain’s lungs were not strong 
and he was seized with a fit of coughing, 
brought on by inhaling gas. This com- 
pelled him to go on deck for a time, and 
he saw Mrs. Stafford approaching. 

“What is wrong, Edward, and why 
are the hatches being opened? You look 
troubled.” 

“Nothing serious, I hope. The cargo 
is badly heated, but we find no fire as 
yet.” 

Mrs. Stafford glanced at her husband 
interrogatively, as if to divine whether he 
concealed anything. She was a woman 
of commanding presence, and though 
hardly thirty-five, her abundant hair was 
perfectly white. 

“ There is no smoke,” she said, looking 
down into the hold. 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


2I 7 


Even as she spoke the carpenter re- 
moved the third hatch, and instantly a 
thin, yellowish vapor ascended into the 
air. “ That’s a bad sign,” said McKenzie, 
the third mate, aside to the carpenter, who 
was preparing to descend. But he drew 
back, holding his nose, and before it was 
possible to go down a wet sponge had to 
be bound over his mouth and nostrils. 
Those who accompanied him took the 
same precaution. 

It was nearly noon, and time to take 
sights. Still no wind, and the rudder- 
chains creaked and rattled as though to 
remind everyone that a calm prevailed. 

While Captain Stafford waited for the 
sun to reach the zenith, the carpenter ap- 
proached, with a serious face. 

“ There looks to be a fire, sir, in hatch 
No. 3. The further down the men dig 
the hotter the coal gets, and the smoke is 
so much thicker we can hardly keep at 
work. All hands are digging trenches, but 
I’m afraid, sir, that opening the hatches is 
making it worse.” 

u Begin now and pump water into the 
trenches. We will see what effect that 
has. I shall be there as soon as possible.” 

He hardly dared to think what would 
become of the ship in case it should prove 


2l8 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


impossible to subdue the fire. She was a 
fine new vessel, having been built on the 
Clyde only two years before. Should a 
fair wind spring up and the fire continue 
to burn inwardly, there might be some 
hope of making Callao or Panama, and 
thus saving the ship; but here they were 
in a dead calm, at a place where a steady 
wind of any sort was practically out of the 
question. 

All the afternoon water was pumped 
into the hold, being led over the coal by 
means of the trenches, and when pumping 
ceased early in the evening it appeared to 
have done much good. The coal in the 
main hatch was cooled off, and the smoke 
had disappeared from the one next to it. 
But the morning would prove whether the 
fire was to be subdued or not, and the crew 
were ordered to bring up their mattresses 
and sleep on deck. Then all the hatches 
were tightly battened down in order to 
exclude air from the hold, and supper was 
served two hours later than usual. But 
no one in the cabin except Howard was 
able to do justice to the turtle-steak, the 
others hardly knowing what was before 
them. Anxiety and suspense destroy ap- 
petite, and not until morning arrived would 
it be known whether or not the fire had 


A Dangerous Cargo . 


219 


the ship at its mercy. If the coal was 
merely heated and not actually burning, 
the water pumped on it would probably 
suffice to avert combustion. The fact of 
the vapor having vanished was of little 
importance — the exterior of a volcano 
may be treacherously fair and peaceful at 
the very moment the interior is a mass of 
molten fire. 

Howard turned in at the usual time. 
He vaguely understood that something 
was wrong, and wondered why all were 
so grave. But the boy saw neither fire 
nor smoke, and his childish mind had not 
yet grasped the peril which threatened 
the ship. Clad in his white nightgown, he 
knelt at his mother’s knee; and, burying 
his face in her lap, said the evening prayer 
she had taught. He repeated the words 
more slowly than usual, and after reach- 
ing “Amen ” continued earnestly, ‘‘God, 
don’t let us be burned up, and please let 
us catch another turtle to-morrow.” Then 
he ran into his little room next to that of 
his parents, and bounded into bed in a way 
that made the slats rattle 

Ten minutes later, when Mrs. Stafford 
stole in on tip-toe, the child was sleeping 
peacefully; the bed-clothes were all kicked 
off, and the cherished figure of Lord Nel- 


220 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


son — without which he never went to 
sleep — had just fallen from one little 
hand. There he lay in the sweet forget- 
fulness of childhood, while his mother 
stood beside him thinking of the many 
nights he had slept in that little bed; in 
storm and calm, in heat and cold, in the 
Atlantic, in the Pacific, in the Indian 
Ocean. How many more nights would 
he sleep there? She softly imprinted a 
kiss on the tanned forehead, and left the 
room with moist eyes. Ascending to the 
quarter-deck, she lay down in a hammock 
underneath the awning. 

Captain Stafford and William Wells, 
the second mate, were standing by the rail 
discussing the chances of saving the ship, 
and speaking of other vessels that had 
caught fire under similar conditions. One, 
a large British ship, called the Kenilworth , 
had been abandoned after being burned 
entirely out inside. She was afterwards 
picked up, towed into San Francisco, and 
sold at auction. An American firm was 
the purchaser; she was rebuilt, and is sail- 
ing the seas to-day under the stars and 
stripes. Another, less fortunate, was en- 
tirely consumed in the South Pacific, her 
officers and crew escaping to the island of 
Juan Fernandez. 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


221 


The two men thought Mrs. Stafford was 
asleep, but she heard every word, and the 
relation of these disasters depressed her 
spirits exceedingly. She struggled with 
this feeling, for she was not a woman to 
despair easily, and at length succeeded in 
forgetting everything in a deep, dreamless 
sleep. 

Dawn put an end to suspense. Through 
two of the closed hatches a thin cloud of 
smoke was filtering, — proof conclusive 
that fire had been slowly consuming the 
cargo for days and days past. Now it was 
eating its way to the surface The hatches 
were opened, but dense clouds of hot, suf- 
focating 3 T ellow smoke belched forth, driv- 
ing all back. It was overpowering, and 
they were covered up again as fast as pos- 
sible. It was useless to pump more water 
into the hold, for the removal of the 
hatches, by creating a draft, would simply 
fan the fire. Nothing but a miracle could 
now save the ship. 

Orders were given for the crew to bring 
all the stores and provisions up from be- 
low, — all their bedding, sea-chests, and 
whatever else there was in the fore peak. 
The smell of gas down there was intoler- 
able, and besides, it was necessary to keep 
every hatch closed in order to smother the 


222 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


lire as much as possible. When every- 
thing had been brought up, the cover was 
put on and secured, and the seams caulked 
with oakum. 

One of the apprentices did not realize 
until it was too late, that the crew must 
live entirely on deck from that time forth; 
evidently supposing it would be possible 
to go below again after an interval. When 
he discovered his mistake the boy asked 
to be allowed to fetch his sea-chest, but 
the hatch was secured permanently, and 
his request had to be refused. He was 
the only son of a widowed mother, who 
had fitted him out finely on this, his first 
voyage, and tears filled his eyes when he 
thought of all the things she had made for 
him with so much care. 

The calm continued — there was no sign 
of the longed for wind. Several men were 
kept aloft all day to scan the horizon for a 
sail, even the captain assending the rig- 
ging; but not a solitary object was in 
sight. 

The endless procession of yesterday 
fioated by with horrible monotony. The 
red-e} T ed blotches of film, the jelly-fish, the 
orange-colored snakes, the large turtles 
asleep on the water or paddling slowly 
about, — it was precisely the same. The 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


223 


previous day the water and its strange in- 
habitants had possessed a fascinating in- 
terest to many of those on the ship; now 
this same scene of tranquil beauty had be- 
come an aggravation. As Mrs. Stafford’s 
anxious eyes fell on these curious sluggish 
creatures contentedly floating with the 
current, she wondered absently whether 
they derived any pleasure from such a 
passive and aimless existence. The two 
pilot-fish still swam by the counter; the 
invisible shark still lurked beneath the 
ship; the dolphin alone, was gone. 

It was the Sabbath, — usually a day of 
perfect rest on the Lochleven , for Captain 
Stafford was a man of strong religious 
convictions. Every soul on board, from 
Mrs. Stafford and Howard down to the 
apprentices, was required to be present 
at the Sunday morning services. In pleas- 
ant weather these exercises were con- 
ducted on the main deck, where all hands 
were accustomed to assemble at six bells 
(11 o’clock), but to-day was an exception, 
for the crew was hard at work. 

Every deep - water ship, before she 
reaches port after a long voyage, is thor- 
oughly cleaned and painted from stem to 
stern. This is a job requiring at least a 
couple of weeks. The Lochleven had 


224 


A Dangerous Cargo . 


expected to reach San Francisco within a 
month, and ship-cleaning was nearly com- 
pleted at the time the fire was discovered. 
The iron yards and lower masts were 
freshly painted, the wooden top-masts and 
top-gallant masts had been scraped, sand- 
papered and oiled, the rigging tarred 
down, the life - boats and deck - houses 
cleaned and painted, and the decks holy- 
stoned and oiled up to the top notch. 

Now each man in the crew was work- 
ing as only desperate men can, to heave 
overboard every inflammable article about 
the ship. Buckets of tar and paint; cans 
of benzine and linseed oil; spare spars and 
planks; empty barrels; old sails; oakum 
and sennit; — all covered the placid sur- 
face of the ocean. 

Howard was very silent all the morn- 
ing. He knew now something very serious 
had happened, and his surprise was great 
at sight of so many useful articles being 
made way with. More than once had he 
been punished for thus disposing of belay- 
ing pins, brooms, swabs and marline- 
spikes. He trotted around near the mate, 
who was an especial favorite of his, and 
followed the example of the others by 
throwing into the sea such light articles 
as were suited to his strength. But when 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


225 


six bells struck and the work still con- 
tinued, he ran to find his father. Never 
before could he remember a Sabbath when 
services were not in progress at that hour. 

“ I thought this was Sunday, papa? ” 

“ So it is, Howard.” 

“Then why don’t we have church? 
Have you preached all the sermons you 
know ? ” 

“ It is not that, my boy.” 

“And shan’t we have duff for dessert, 
either? ” 

“I suppose we shall; we usually do on 
Sunday and Wednesday. The reason ser- 
vices are not held to-day is because there 
is much work that cannot be delayed. 
The Lord helps those who help them- 
selves, and instead of stopping to pray for 
deliverance we must first do everything 
in our power to lessen the danger.” 

The boy thought a moment, and then 
ran off to inform his mother. “ Mama 
won’t believe it; she’ll think I’m fooling 
her! ” he called out to his father. 

During the afternoon the boats were 
watered and provisioned, and made ready 
for launching, though Captain Stafford 
was determined not to abandon the ship 
until the last extremity. It is appalling 


226 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


to think of leaving a large vessel in mid- 
ocean for a few frail cockle-shells, and the 
master of the Lochleven entertained a des- 
perate hope that some sort of a breeze 
might soon spring up that would at least 
carry the doomed ship nearer the Galapa- 
gos Islands, — the only land within a radius 
of a thousand miles of the spot where the 
vessel lay. A few white wind clouds could 
be seen on the south-western horizon, but 
they rose very slowly. 

The fire was evidently gaining very 
rapidly, for when Mrs. Stafford went be- 
low towards evening she noticed a strong 
sulphurous smell pervading the cabin and 
sleeping rooms. The captain had not 
reckoned on this so soon, and took the 
precaution to bring his sextant, chronome- 
ters, the ship’s papers and some of the 
charts on deck, where all hands made ar- 
rangements to pass the night; — the crew 
being in the extreme forward part of the 
long vessel, the officers amidships, and the 
captain’s family on the quarter-deck. This 
in itself was no especial hardship, for the 
weather was warm, though not exces- 
sively so. 

Mgnificent beyond all description was 
the sunset. The sky reflected every pos- 
sible tint — indigo, light blue, pink, ma- 


A Dangerous Cargo. 227 

genta, light and dark green, yellow, 
orange, gray and other hues — all blended 
and shaded so harmoniously that it was 
impossible to tell where one began and 
another left off. In the midst of the indigo 
blue hung the moon, a crescent of burn- 
ished silver. 

As midnight approached, great banks 
of purple clouds massed themselves in the 
heavens, while forked and sheet lightning 
shot across the lurid sky. A dozen hands 
were aloft furling the skysails and royals. 

“ Only a squall, Mary,” Captain Staf- 
ford said, in answer to his wife’s question, 
“ but there is wind behind it, though per- 
haps not much.” 

In the early morning hours the first 
great drops pattered heavily on the awn- 
ing, and a puff of wind was perceptible 
soon after. Mr. Wells had the deck, and 
the men joyfully sprang to the braces to 
trim the yards in accordance with his 
orders. By the time this was accom- 
plished the tropical rain descended in per- 
fect torrents, — blinding sheets, — and the 
ship was well heeled over, running before 
a heavy squall with nearly squared yards. 
The rain hissed into the foaming ocean, 
the lightning flashed, and for four hours 
the Lochleven seemed literally to fly, as if 


228 


A Dangerous 


Cargo . 


trying to escape the demon of destruction 
within. The awning was new and shed 
the torrents of water well, though the 
heaviness of the deluge threatened to 
split it. 

The squall passed over slowly, having 
helped the ship along nearly fifty miles 
towards the islands. Then the rain ceased 
and the wind nearly so, leaving only a 
two-knot zephyr. Even this was better 
than a calm, but soon after sunrise it in- 
creased to a steady breeze which held all 
that day. 

The captain and Mrs. Stafford under- 
took to go below and bring up some of 
their clothes and other possessions, but 
were rendered nearly insensible before 
they had crossed the cabin. Up through 
the floor came volumes of poisonous gas, 
rendering the atmosphere so stifling that 
both hastened back and stumbled up the 
companion-way to the purer air. The 
books, trinkets and souvenirs that Mrs. 
Stafford had picked up all over the world, 
— many of which were rendered dear by 
their associations, rather than by their in- 
trinsic value, — all these things she prized 
so highly were utterly lost. The captain 
had private charts belonging to himself 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


229 


that could scarcely be replaced. It was 
impossible to get at them. 

All the scuppers were plugged up and 
water pumped on the main deck until it 
fairly swam. There was nothing else to 
be done but to scan the horizon and hope 
that the crisis might not come until the 
wind had carried them nearer the islands, 
which were yet a good three hundred 
miles to the eastward. 

Another squall from the southwest 
towards evening increased their speed, 
though everyone was in constant fear lest 
the wind should fail entirely when it 
passed over. Captain Stafford resolved 
to take to the boats the moment it fell 
calm, for it was already perilous to remain 
on the ship. They were literally living- 
over a volcano, and nothing but the desire 
to get as near land as possible induced 
him to stick to the vessel so long. 

Occasional heavy puffs of smoke and 
sparks came from two of the hatches 
towards morning, and all hands were on 
the qui vive, momentarily expecting the 
order to get the boats over. The wind 
grew lighter, and as it failed the poisonous 
vapors nearly choked those on board. 

The man at the wheel struck eight 
bells — it was 4 A. m. Never again would 


230 


A Dangerous Cargo. 


those spokes be clasped by human hands, 
or that bell be heard to ring. From away 
forward floated the answering sound of 
the bell on the foremast. 

Then came the order “Abandon ship! ” 

The ocean was calm, and three of the 
boats were launched without difficulty; 
Captain Stafford, Mr. Maitland and Mr. 
Wells each taking charge of one. There 
was no time to take a last look, — no time 
for anything but to hurry away from the 
ship, before the accumulation of gas in the 
hold should burst the decks open or blow 
the hatches off. 

Th eLochl even's sails were flapping softly 
in obedience to the gentle swell. Her four 
tall masts with their great spread of can- 
vas, and imposing three hundred feet of 
dark hull, lent a deceptive appearance of 
security and majesac strength. She had 
not been deserted any too soon, for just as 
the stars were fading in the east before 
the swift tropical dawn, the expected rend- 
ing of her decks took place. Clouds of 
smoke and sheets of flame leaped up, the 
canvas and rigging caught, and in an in- 
credibly short space of time, the great 
vessel was blazing fiercely. The blowing 
up of the decks released the imprisoned 
flames, which roared and crackled; writh- 


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A Dangerous Cargo. 


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ing up the ropes and shrouds to the very 
mast heads, as though eager for more ma- 
terial to devour. 

Those in the boats watched the awful 
spectacle with fascinated eyes. The heat 
became unbearable, burning brands fell 
into the ocean, and a little breeze spring- 
ing up, they took advantage of it to get 
under way. Fanned by the rising wind, 
that four thousand tons of burning coal 
lighted up the ocean for miles and miles 
around, while the boats seemed to be float- 
ing on a sea of blood. To their awe-struck 
occupants, it seemed that the great beacon 
must be visible from the Galapagos Islands, 
— the haven which they were destined to 
reach three days later. 

Suddenly a cry came from Howard. In 
the hurry and excitement of departure, 
Lord Nelson had been left behind! He 
begged his father to put back — implored 
his mother, with choking sobs, to let him 
save his cherished companion. They tried 
to comfort him, but in vain. In speechless 
grief the boy held out his arms towards 
the burning ship, gradually melting into 
the horizon line; and if Howard Stafford 
lives to be four score, he will never shed 
more bitter or scalding tears than fell from 
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and a couple of seamen had obtained shore 
leave for the afternoon. 


Bill and Abraham (called Abe for short) 
were jolly good fellows of more than aver- 
age intelligence, and they determined to 
enjoy their day to the utmost. To this 
end they had refused to join the mess at 
dinner, in order that their appetites might 
be the keener for the viands at the Royal 
George, to whose hospitable doors they 
directed their steps upon landing. Both 
were rigged out in their best togs, and 
took their seats at a table with the pleas* 

— 16 


234 


The Parson's Text. 


ant consciousness that their personal ap- 
pearance was just about at high water mark. 

u Heave us one o’ them programmes, 
Sally,” said Bill. “A mighty trim lass 
you are, if I does tell you so.” 

“ Me name is Lucy, your honor,” re- 
plied the buxom waitress with a smirk, as 
she placed a bill-of-fare before the twain. 

u Married? ” asked Bill. 

“ No, sir. I’ve not yet met me fate,” 
answered Lucy, demurely. 

“Crackey! You must be stage-struck.” 

“’Vast there, Bill, and quit your foolin’,” 
interrupted Abe. u I’m ’ungry. Wot will 
we ’ave? ” 

He was considerably older than his com- 
panion, and had reached that stage in life 
when not even the charms of a pretty 
waitress could make him lose sight of the 
fact that it was past the time for dinner. 

It seemed to Abe that their orders would 
never arrive, so he spent the time in de« 
vouring a bottle of little round pickles 
which occupied the center of the table. 
Bill kept trying to attract the attention of 
a golden haired fairy who was opening 
numerous bottles of ale in another part of 
the room, and only desisted when Abe re- 
marked: “Seems to me these ’ere pickles 
are awful salty.” 


The Parson's Text. 


2 35 


“ Them ain’t pickles, you bloke; them’s 
holives,” said Bill, grinning. 

“Wot’s that but another name for — ” 

Abe’s answer was cut short by the 
long-expected appearance of Lucy, and 
both men were soon doing full justice to 
the dinner, which included beefsteak and 
onions, fried sole with anchovy sauce, and 
a pot of stout; besides half a dozen minor 
dishes, all of which they relished as only 
men can who have lived for some time on 
ship’s stores. 

At last Bill said: “Well, Abe, ain’t you 
most done? I’m full to the hatches.” 

“ Oh, sir, your honors ’asn’t ’ad the 
sweets yet,” expostulated Lucy. “We’ve 
got some lovely tarts, and a duff, and — ” 

“Duff! Bring us a whole one, quick! ” 
cried Abe. 

“We’ve eat too much,” said Bill. “I 
never thought of the duff, or I wouldn’t 
have eaten all this other truck. We’ll 
never be able to finish a whole one.” 

“Yes we will, too,” Abe maintained; so 
the dainty was placed before them, and 
they fell to with a will. But both soon 
found that their eyes were larger than 
their stomachs, and though Abe ate more 
than his companion, even he had to stop 


236 


The Parson's Text. 


before more than a third of the duff had 
been dispatched. 

“It’s too bad we ’ave to leave it,” he 
said regretfully. 

An alarming idea suddenly struck Bill. 
u Suppose we ain’t got money enough to 
pay for all these things we’ve ’ad,” he 
whispered fearfully. They asked for their 
reckoning, and alas! Bill’s surmise proved 
correct. 

“If we ’adn’t hordered a whole duff, 
we’d ’ad money left,” said Abe, “and now 
wot’s to be done? We ain’t eat a quarter 
of it.” 

Lucy thought of the shilling that Bill 
had recklessly slipped into her hand un- 
known to Abe. After a moment’s con- 
sideration, she said confidentially, “ I’ll 
leave out the price of the duff, for it’s 
mostly all left, and very few calls for a 
whole one. Nobody’ll be the wiser if I 
brings ’em a piece of this.” 

A load was removed from the minds of 
the sailors, both of whom thanked the fair 
Lucy fervently, and if Bill had had any 
money left she would have gotten it. 
Their table was in a corner near the en- 
trance, and as they rose to go a commo- 
tion in the rear of the room attracted 
Lucy’s attention. Bill was already at the 


The Parson's Text. 


2 37 


door and Abe about to follow, when the 
tempting duff again caught his eye. He 
wavered a minute. “I’ll be blowed if I 
leaves it,” he muttered, as he unbuttoned 
his loose blouse. 

All hands seemed to be gathering in the 
back of the large room, and after a stealthy 
glance to be sure that he was unobserved, 
Abe seized the remainder of the duff and 
placed it in his bosom. Then he buttoned 
up his blouse, drew his loose jacket to- 
gether as much as possible, and boldly 
walked out of the door with head well in 
the air. 

Bill was a little uneasy at first upon 
hearing what his companion had done, 
though he agreed that the duff would be 
delicious eating a few hours later. Finally 
he was rather glad of Abe’s action, and 
only hoped that Lucy would not get into 
a scrape on account of it. 

They walked along for some time, until 
they came to a church. Many people 
were entering, and the sound of the organ 
announced that services were about to 
begin. 

“Let’s go in, Abe,” said Bill. “We 
looks decent, I guess, and I ain’t been in a 
bloomin’ meetin’-house since Mag. Hal- 
ton’s weddin’, when I was a youngster.” 


238 


The Parson's Text. 


“All right. We’ll cast anchor in this 
’ere church for a while. We’ll be safer, 
too, for I’m kind afeerd of the hofficers of 
the law nabbing us if we stays on the 
street.” 

They passed through the vestibule and 
into the church; when an usher took them 
in tow, and the pair were given seats in 
the extreme forward part of the edifice — 
in the second row of pews. Everything 
seemed strange to Abe and Bill in that 
dim half-light, and their eyes had scarcely 
become accustomed to the change from 
out doors when the grand music of the 
organ again pealed forth, and the services 
began with a hymn from the surpliced 
choir. 

The novelty of the scene wore off after 
half an hour or so, and the exercises began 
to seem a trifle tiresome. 

“ There ain’t nothin’ to’t but singin’ and 
then gettin’ down on your knees, and then 
jumpin’ up and singin’ again,” whispered 
Abe. “Awful poor singin’ I calls it, too. 
I’d like to give ’em a good chorus now — 
somethin’ like ‘W’isky is the Life of 
Man’ — just to show ’em wot real singin’ 

“I can’t say as I admires the parson 
much, neither,” answered Bill. “He looks 


The Parson's Text. 


2 39 


almighty severe, he does. I’d hate to sign 
articles with a craft he was skipper of; 
he’d hang two or three to the fore yard- 
arm every morning, just for the fun of the 
thing.” 

“I’m agreed on that, Bill. But look — 
the old boy’s goin’ up them steps.” 

The minister entered the pulpit; the 
sermon was about to begin. 

The members of the congregation set- 
tled back in their seats with looks of ex- 
pectant interest (or resignation) as the 
reverend gentleman gave a preparatory 
cough. After adjusting his spectacles and 
calmly surveying his flock, he announced: 
“Brethren, my discourse this afternoon 
will be from the text, ‘Abraham, Abra- 
ham, what is in thy bosom?’ ” 

The two sailors convulsively grasped 
the pew - cushions as they exchanged 
glances of consternation. 

“Good G — , Bill!” whispered Abe, “the 
parson knows I stole that duff! ” 

Bill sat as though petrified, and the 
silence in the house of worship was such 
that you could have heard a pin drop. 

After giving the congregation a few 
seconds to digest his words, the pastor 
brushed a troublesome fly from his nose, 


240 


The Parson's Text. 


and repeated more slowly and impressive- 
ly, “Abraham, Abraham, what is in thy 
bosom ? ” 

This was too much for Abe, who jumped 
to his feet exclaiming: “You know I’ve 
got it, parson, so, d — you, take it! ” 

Suiting the action to the word, he hurled 
the duff at the astounded minister, and fol- 
lowed by Bill, fled incontinently from the 
church. 




’/I! American ship Saga- 

Ilf- more was now sixty- 

seven days out from 
New York bound for San Francisco, and 
on this September evening in one of the 
closing years of the nineteenth century, 
she was ftying along in the South Atlantic 
under a stiff top-gallant breeze, at a rate 
that no steamer in that part of the world 
could eclipse, if, indeed, any could equal. 
With the wind a trifle abaft the beam, 
yards well off the backstays, and showers 
of spray whirling over the weather bul- 
warks to leeward, the stately ship swept 
on — an animated picture of whose majesty 
and grace no one may conceive who has 



242 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


not seen a large square-rigged vessel driv- 
ing through the water at full speed. 

To the right, scarce fifty miles away, 
stretched the bleak and inhospitable coast 
of Patagonia; to the left, equally distant, 
lay the rugged and desolate Falkland 
Islands; behind, growing every instant 
more remote, were civilization and gov- 
ernment; while ahead lay an almost bound 
less waste of storm-swept waters frowned 
upon by grim Cape Horn itself — firm ruler 
of a region which for three centuries has 
tried the patience of mariners, and tested 
the endurance of the stoutest ships that 
man can build. 

The usual preparation for rounding the 
Horn had been made. The old patched- 
up sails had been taken down, and strong 
new ones bent in their places — for a ship, 
unlike a person, wears her best suit of 
clothes in foul weather; — lanyards and 
standing rigging had been renewed and 
strengthened; preventer braces attached 
to the principal yards; and life-lines 
stretched all over the main deck. 

It was the second dog-watch — from 6 
to 8 p. M. — and a grand but stormy-look- 
ing sunset had given place to the long 
twilight that prevails in these high lati- 
tudes. A solitary star of great size blazed 


Rounding Caj)e Horn. 


2 43 


in the zenith, while on the northern horizon, 
resembling an immense open fan, there 
was a fine display of the Aurora Borealis, 
which appeared to rise out of the sea and 
was becoming more beautiful as the twi- 
light deepened. 

Up on the poop-deck, clad in warm 
ulsters, the two passengers were taking 
their evening constitutional, occasionally 
pausing to make some comment on the 
myriads of Cape pigeons whirling about 
the ship, or to watch a lordly albatross 
swoop down from above and dive beneath 
the waters — seldom failing to sieze the 
hapless fish that his unerring eye had 
spied from afar. Both were young fellows 
of perhaps twenty-five, who in this long 
voyage had sought rest; the one from col- 
lege studies too closely pursued, and the 
other from the countless worries and nerv- 
ous tension of American business life. 

Will Hartley and Frank Wilbur had 
never met until the day before leaving 
New York, and as both were of rather 
reserved dispositions, their relations at first 
were those of acquaintances rather than 
friends. But all that was now changed, 
for gradually they began to thoroughly 
like each other; and by this time were 
nearly inseparable. Several months’ daily 


244 


Rounding Cape Horn . 


intercourse between two young men shut 
up in a ship together is a severe test of 
companionship, but in the present case it 
had resulted most happily. 

Hartley broke a short silence by saying; 
“ To think that ten weeks have passed 
since I saw a newspaper! All sorts of 
events have happened on shore that no 
one here dreams of.” 

“ What do we care?” answered Wilbur, 
with a laugh. “We are in a world of our 
own, and as for me, I don’t bother about 
what is going on in the United States. It 
seems as if I had always lived on this ship, 
and my whole past life appears a vague 
dream. What I would like to know is, 
whether the Arabia and Iroquois are 
ahead of us or not. It will be too bad if 
they beat us to San Francisco.” 

“No danger of that if we keep up this 
rate of speed. George! but we’re travel- 
ing. Let’s take a look at the log.” 

Captain Meade, a fine-looking man of 
fifty, joined the passengers, remarking as 
he rubbed his hands in a satisfied fashion, 
“Well, gentlemen, this is a good start 
around the Horn. We were 50° 45' south 
this noon, and if this wind would only 
draw into the north a trifle and then hold, 
we might be across 50 in the Pacific a 


Rounding Cape Horn . 


2 45 


week from to-day. I made it in six days 
once, but never expect to again.” 

When a seaman speaks of rounding 
Cape Horn he does not mean simply pass- 
ing the Cape itself, as one might Cape 
Cod or Cape Flattery. Looking at a map 
of South America, we find that the Horn 
is situated in 56° south latitude; but from 
the moment a ship crosses the fiftieth par- 
allel in the South Atlantic until she has 
passed down around the stormy Cape and 
up in the Pacific to the fiftieth parallel in 
that ocean, — a distance approaching a 
thousand miles, — she is said to be “round- 
ing Cape Horn.” Until she is across 50 
in the Pacific, the vessell is never safe 
from being blown clear back to the Cape 
by the furious western gales and hurri- 
canes that rage almost continuous^ in this 
region. Thus the Sagamore had already 
started to round the Horn, although she 
was yet several hundred miles from the 
place itself. 

The wind had increased to nearly a 
gale, and the ship was beginning to take 
some good-sized seas on board. The big 
surges struck the vessel’s sides with a 
shock that made her tremble as she sped 
on, and the mate soon bawled out, “Clew 
up the mizzen to’-gallant s’il!” The work 


246 


Rounding Cafe Horn. 


of stripping the ship continued until nothing 
remained but a few storm-sails. All hands 
had been called, and in was indeed a sight 
to see the men aloft on the yards in the 
gathering darkness, as they tugged at the 
flapping canvas, trying to lay it on the 
yard so as to pass the gaskets round; 
while the wind howled through the rig- 
ging like mad, and the Sagamore , as she 
plunged on, began to roll at a lively rate 
under the influence of the big sea which 
was being kicked up. 

“I’m glad I’m not a sailor,” said Wilbur, 
preparing to go below. Just then a comber 
broke against the stern, and a good-sized 
lump of water plumped down on his 
back, drenching him thoroughly. Hartley 
laughed; so did the bo’s’un, who passed at 
that moment, and the passengers quickly 
descended the companion-way to the cabin, 
whose warmth and security were in sharp 
contrast to the bellowing gale and stream- 
ing decks without. 

An exquisitely wrought lamp of Benares 
brass — it had once graced a viceroy’s 
mansion in Calcutta — shed its soft light 
on the marble-topped center table. The 
captain’s compass affixed to the ceiling 
silently indicated the vessel’s course, and 
a number of fine geraniums which orna- 


Rounding Cape Horn . 247 

mented the wheel-house windows in warm 
weather now occupied a rack about the 
inside of the skylight. The ends of the 
room were occupied by two cozy sofas, 
with lockers underneath; one containing 
old copies of “Harper’s” and “Scribner’s,” 
while a liberal supply of ale, beer, and 
similar comforts filled the other. Upon 
the walls, handsomely finished in panels of 
natural woods, were a brace of revolvers 
and several glittering swords and cutlasses 
belonging to the captain, — excellent weap- 
ons to have on a ship far removed from all 
civil law for months at a time. The floor 
was of Oregon pine, beautifully oiled and 
polished. Contrary to custom, it was on 
this voyage covered by a carpet that the 
steward had put down soon after leaving 
port, “so as the passengers wouldn’t break 
their necks when she got to rolling off 
Cape Horn.” Nearly all the way from 
New York to the Falklands the weather 
had been glorious, and the ship stood up 
like a church in the few squalls that were 
encountered; but now the young men be- 
gan to think the steward had known what 
he was about when that carpet was laid. 
Walking or even sitting still had become 
an accomplishment, so Hartley brought 
out the fifth volume of “Les Miserables,” 


2 4 8 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


while Wilbur produced one of the numer- 
ous books he had provided. With chair- 
backs to the table, and feet braced against 
the sofas, they defied the elements tempo- 
rarily and read on — to the accompaniment 
of groaning timbers, an occasional crash 
from the steward’s pantry, and the muffled 
roaring of the gale without. 

The storm gained strength as the night 
advanced. While the mizzen topsail was 
being furled, bo’s’un Merrell went forward 
under the forecastle deck to put additional 
lashings on several casks of provisions 
stowed in the vicinity. He was assisted 
by two foremast hands, and the trio had 
just secured a barrel of flour when the 
ship was struck by a heavy sea, and gave 
a vicious roll that threw all three men 
against a water-butt standing near. The 
sailors gained their feet uninjured, but be- 
fore the stunned boVun could recover 
himself, a half-filled cask of beef broke 
loose and was hurled through space as 
though shot from a cannon. With a cry 
of warning, the two seamen stumbled out 
of the way, but before Merrell could es- 
cape he was felled like an ox, and his lan- 
tern smashed to fragments. The motion 
in that extreme forward part of the ship 
was very great, and the cask soon took 


Rounding Cafe Horn. 


249 

another dive in a different direction; when 
the men, guided by the groans of the in- 
jured bo’s’un, groped their way to where 
he lay and contrived to drag him behind 
the hatch-coaming. He was able to sit 
up, and gasped out “Call the mate, Jack; 
I’ve got a bad hurt.” 

It was about two o’clock in the morning. 
Captain Meade had been on deck most of 
the night, and went forward upon hearing 
of the accident. The suffering man was 
borne into his little room near the galley, 
where he underwent an examination which 
resulted in ths discovery that the left leg 
was broken midway between knee and 
ankle. 

Few men have commanded deep-water 
ships for twei>ty years without having had 
to deal with broken limbs occasionally, 
and the master of the Sagamore was no ex- 
ception. Twice before had he success- 
fully met a similar emergency, and in the 
present case there was a valuable assistant 
at hand in the person of Mr. Hartley, who 
had just completed a course of study at a 
New York medical college, and was now 
en route to the Pacific Coast to practice. 

Having made his way aft across the 
dark and steeply-inclined deck, the captain 
called the steward, and then apprised 
-17 


250 


Rounding Cafe Horn. 


Hartley of what had occurred. That 
young man had not slept for some hours, 
and upon learning of the accident was 
most anxious to render all the assistance 
in his power; for the bo’s’un was a good- 
natured fellow, liked by all. 

While Hartley struggled into his 
clothes, Captain Meade procured splints 
and bandages from the medicine-chest. 
When both were ready, they opened the 
storm-door leading onto the main deck, 
and awaited a favorable moment. The 
night was black, but the gloom was re- 
lieved somewhat by the foam-covered 
water surging about the deck. Holding 
to the life-lines with one hand, they dashed 
forward along the lee side, stopping once 
to seize the line tightly and haul them- 
selves up off the deck to avoid a deluge 
that tumbled over the weather bulwarks, 
and poured down to leeward. 

The steward was already in attendance 
on the patient, and Hartley at once set 
about uniting the broken bones and apply- 
ing the splints. What Captain Meade 
would have considered a painful and dis- 
agreeable necessity, he regarded from a 
professional standpoint only, and went 
about his work with a coolness and assur- 
ance that greatly relieved both captain and 


Rounding Cape Horn . 


2 5 J 


patient. The abominable rolling was the 
worst obstacle to be overcome, but the 
task was at last accomplished, and in a 
highly creditable manner. 

Merrell was resting easier when Cap- 
tain Meade and “the surgeon” pro- 
ceeded aft. The former streched the chart 
of the Cape Horn region upon the cabin 
table and examined it long and closely; 
for Staten Land — rocky, uninhabited, and 
with no lighthouse to reveal its position — 
was rapidly being neared, and great cau- 
tion was necessary. 

There was now an apparent lull in the 
gale, but it was not for long. At daylight 
the Sagamore entered a “ tide-rip ” whose 
waters, lashed into fury by the gale, pre- 
sented an awful spectacle. The ocean re- 
sembled a gigantic mill-race; the tide 
flowing one way, while a swift current set 
in the opposite direction, forming a whirl- 
pool. Huge waves came from all direc- 
tions at once, pouring tons of water on the 
main deck and forecastle. Progress was 
well-nigh impossible, but the captain kept 
resolutely on, knowing that the ship’s only 
salvation lay in running through the tide- 
rip before she should be hurled upon her 
side by some sea more mountainous than 
the rest. This nearly happened once when 


252 


Rounding Caj)e Horn. 


a towering wave half as high as the fore 
3^ard broke on board, staving in the heav}' 
door of the galley and flooding the inter- 
ior, washing everything movable from the 
decks; while the ship went over, and over, 
and over, till her yard-arms almost touched 
the water, and her decks were like the 
sloping roof of a house. 

But the crisis was safely passed, and the 
maelstrom left behind. The gale blew it- 
self out during the forenoon, the sky 
cleared, the sun shown brightly through 
the clear frosty atmosphere, and land was 
visible from the deck. 

Land! 

If you have never been so situated that 
for many weeks your eyes have not beheld 
a solitary foot of ground you can hardly 
appreciate the emotions of all on board the 
Sagamore as they looked on that bleak 
and forbidding promontory rising out of 
the' mist — Cape St. John. A few hours 
later, the ship was opposite the treacherous 
straits of Lemaire, and ver}^ near the 
shore. The entire length of Staten Land 
from Cape St. John on the east to Cape 
St. Bartholomew on the west, was 
stretched out like a grand panorama; forty 
miles of low mountains, jagged rocks, and 
broken valleys, without a sign of animal 


Rounding Cafe Horn . 


2 53 


or vegetable life, and with naught save 
great patches of snow to relieve its black 
nakedness. The straits of Lamaire separ- 
ate this body of land from Terra del 
Fuego, and on the latter might now be 
seen Bell Mountain, — a distant but lofty 
peak, on whose snow-capped summit the 
sun shown in wintry splendor. 

Hundreds of large sailing vessels pass 
Cape St. John every year on their long 
voyages from New York, the British Isles 
and Continental Europe to our Pacific 
coast. It is a great rendezvous, and the 
Sagamore presently found herself in the 
midst of an imposing fleet of merchantmen 
of all nations. Here, at the southern ex- 
tremity of the American continent, were 
ten ships and three barks, carrying the 
world’s products to San Francisco. Scores 
of eager faces lined the bulwarks, while 
on the poop of the nearest craft stood a 
woman — the first representative of the 
fair sex that anyone on the Sagamore had 
seen for three months. As the large 
vessels, with all their canvas set, slowly 
mounted the regular swell, a murmur of 
admiration burst from the passengers, who 
longed for a far-reaching camera to pre- 
serve the beautiful picture through years 
to come. Those ships had completed the 


2 54 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


first half of their long journeys, and now 
sailed in company for a few hours, soon to 
be scattered far and wide upon the mighty 
Pacific, to meet again at the Golden Gate, 
thousands of miles away. It was a sight 
to make the pulses thrill. 

Chapter II. 

“ Come on deck if you want to see Cape 
Horn!” called out Captain Meade to the 
passengers in the cabin, who instantly hur- 
ried on deck, for one can’t see the famous 
Cape every day. 

The captain silently pointed his finger, 
and there, looming up out of the morning 
mist, the passengers saw Cape Horn. It 
was nearly twenty miles off, but so decep- 
tive are distances at sea that it seemed not 
half that distance away. Who can be- 
hold without a feeling of awe, that black 
and naked rock, rising precipitously from 
a low islet to a height of five hundred feet! 
Like some grim and frowning sentinel, it 
stands guard where the waters of the two 
great oceans meet; tyranizing over and 
sorely harrassing the staunch ships which 
even its power is rarely able to destroy; 
drawing on, but to beat roughly back; 
and occasionally permitting one of them 
to fly past without even a protest, as if to 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


2 55 


say, “I can be gracious when the mood’s 
upon me.” 

It was a sharp, bracing morning. Every- 
thing wore a peaceful aspect, in spite of 
the peculiar moaning and whistling sound 
in the rigging which is always heard here. 
To the south, a vast ice-floe glittered in 
the brilliant sunlight; to leeward, two thin 
columns of smoke-like mist rising from the 
water showed where a couple of whales 
were blowing; while much nearer the 
ship, five splendid albatross sat gracefully 
upon the heavy swell — their black wings 
in striking contrast to their snow-white 
backs and necks. This grand looking 
creature is to the birds of the ocean what 
the eagle is to the birds of the land, and 
the martial look in its piercing black eye 
suggests a prince in disguise from some 
fairy tale. 

The cabin breakfast had just been con- 
cluded, and the Cape pigeons were swarm- 
ing around the ship, or swimming in the 
water alongside. The cunning horde knew 
the hours meals were served as well as 
they did day from night, and at such times 
all were on hand, waiting for the scraps 
which they knew would be thrown over- 
board by the cook and steward. They 
are pretty creatures, uniting the eyes and 


256 


Rounding Cape Horn . 


feet of a duck with the head, bill, and other 
characteristics of the domestic pigeon. 
The breast is white, the head and back a 
bluish black, while the wings are dappled 
black and white. Beneath the feathers, 
the bird is covered with a wonderfully 
thick, soft down, which is so dense that 
not a drop of the icy water in which the 
creatures delight to swim and dive, can 
ever penetrate to the skin. Soon after a 
ship has passed the latitude of Rio de Ja- 
neiro, the pigeons begin to make their 
appearance, and they follow that vessel 
for weeks and weeks, until she has passed 
around .the Horn, and far up into the Pa- 
cific. Then they disappear gradually as 
the warm latitudes are reached, transfer- 
ring their allegiance to some craft bound 
back in the opposite direction. How they 
obtain sleep and rest is a mystery, for one 
never lights on a ship; but no matter how 
fast a vessel may go, or how severe a gale 
may rage, the whole tribe is in attendance 
every morning, like an army following its 
general. 

The cook threw overboard a quantity 
of table scraps, and instantly every pigeon 
flew to the spot; all keeping up a discord- 
ant scolding and chattering, as each tried 
to keep the others from getting a bite, at 


Rounding Cafe Hor?i. 


2 57 


the same time gulping down anything it 
could get hold of. Several dived far down 
after sinking morsels The passengers de- 
ciding to catch some of the birds, a line, 
with a small baited hook, was trailed out 
astern, and seven pigeons were soon hauled 
aboard, being caught in the mouth pre- 
cisely as a fish is. 

The first thing any ocean bird does upon 
being put on the deck of a ship, is to be- 
come sea-sick; and the prisoners unani- 
mously followed this program. After 
parting with their breakfasts, they felt 
better, and one could not help laughing at 
the ludicrous expression of astonishment 
in the creatures’ eyes as they surveyed 
their novel surroundings. In the air or in 
the water, they were the personification of 
grace; but now they seemed to be all legs, 
and fell down, or plumped into something, 
after waddling a few yards. Then they 
ran along flapping their wings, as they 
tried to get sufficient start to enable them 
to soar, but only one succeeded in clearing 
the bulwarks. An old necktie was torn 
into strips, one being fastened around the 
neck of each bird. Thus ornamented, the 
captives were tossed up into the air, and 
off they went to tell their companions 
amongst what strange barbarians they 
had fallen. 


258 Rounding Cape Horn. 

The barometer had been falling for 
some days, and in spite of the fine morn- 
ing, there were strong indications of an 
equinoctial hurricane. A heavy snow- 
storm hid Cape Horn from view that after- 
noon, a contrary wind sprang up, and the 
ship was driven entirely off her course, 
being compelled to head for the South 
Pole. The passengers arrayed themselves 
in oilers, not forgetting to tie strands of 
rope about their boot-tops to keep the 
water out, and paced the quarter-deck, 
where George Marsh, the mate, enter- 
tained them with tales of torrid Singapore. 
But spray was flying over the Sagamore , 
the gale’s roaring made conversation diffi- 
cult, and though the speed was exhilerat- 
ing, the young men were soon driven 
below, leaving the mate to his lonely 
vigil. 

He paced the deck with no companion 
but his own gloomy and bitter thoughts, 
for his life had been a hard one. Confined 
to a seamen’s hospital for many wean 7 
months by a terrible accident, he had thus 
lost command of a fine bark ; and when at 
last he left the sick room, it was only to 
receive the crushing intelligence that all 
his earthly possessions had been destroyed 
by fire. Though a splendid seaman, he 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


2 59 


had since been unable to obtain a master’s 
berth, and now as a subordinate, trod the 
deck of a ship which he was in every way 
fitted to command. 

By midnight the ship was rolling so 
frightfully that it was feared some of the 
masts would go. Great seas were coming 
aboard, the main deck resembled a lake, 
and the crew had hair-breadth escapes 
from going overboard. The bellowing of 
the hurricane was awful, and a constant 
succession of snow-squalls struck the ship, 
sending the white flakes driving through 
the air and upon the decks in a feathery 
cloud. The carpenter was proceeding to 
the pumps to sound the well when he fell 
upon the slippery deck, fetching up in the 
lee scuppers a moment later, where he was 
buried in foam and water. He had pres- 
ence of mind enough to grasp a rope, and 
when the ship rolled in the opposite direc- 
tion he emerged from his unceremonious 
bath as though nothing had happened. 
The hurricane continued to gather force; 
the decks were swept of everything mov- 
able, and the possible shifting of the cargo 
caused continual apprehension. But a 
more serious danger threatened the ship. 
When the temperature of the water was 
taken, the thermometer registered a sharp 


26 o 


Rounding Caj>e Horn. 


drop, indicating the proximity of a large 
body of ice. A sharp lookout was kept, 
but the blackness of the night and the fury 
of the hurricane made it impossible to see 
any distance from the ship. 

Just before daybreak, the thrilling cry 
of “Ice dead ahead!” came from the look- 
out, and there was hardly time to give the 
wheel a few turns before a great gray 
mass loomed up on the port bow A mo- 
ment more, and one of the gigantic ice 
mountains so dreaded in these southern 
seas came into plain view. It towered far 
above the mast-heads, culminating in a 
circle of fantastic pinnacles which resem- 
bled the turrets of a castle. The waves, 
breaking against its base with a noise like 
thunder, hurled themselves far up its steep 
sides, soon to descend in the form of foam- 
ing cataracts and water falls. High up 
on the near side, overhanging the water, 
was a threatening mass of ice that seemed 
ready to fall on the ship, and blot her out 
of existence. So perilously close to the 
great berg was the Sagamore , that its 
freezing breath chilled all on deck to the 
marrow, and the ship’s red port light, as 
she swept by, shone wierdly on the frozen 
mass, revealing grewsome caverns that 
penetrated far inward. Everyone breathed 


Among the Icebergs 





Rounding Cape Horn. 261 


easier when the monster was passed, and 
several recalled the names of missing ships 
that mysteriously disappeared in the South 
Atlantic. 

The first streaks of dawn revealed five 
more bergs, which formed an icy barrier 
through which it was perilous to attempt 
a passage; while the dangerous group of 
rocks known as the Diego Ramirez effect- 
ually blocked the way to the north. At 
any moment the flying ship might crash 
into one of the bergs, so it was decided to 
heave to, thus lessening the danger of col- 
lision. 

Tacking a large square-rigged vessel is 
considerable of a job at any time, but at 
night, and in a hurricane, it is an arduous 
task. The stiffened braces, wet with icy 
salt water, got tangled up, and occasion- 
ally a man would make a mistake amid 
the maze of ropes, thus adding to the con- 
fusion. But at last the work was finished, 
and the ship brought to a standstill. Sev- 
eral times she went over so far that cap- 
tain and mates hardly dared to breathe 
for fear she was on her side and would 
never right. Buc after remaining in that 
precarious position for a moment, the ship 
would keel over with a sickening velocity 
from one side to the other; the mast-heads 


262 


Rounding Caj>e Horn. 


reeling dizzily against the sky, until she 
brought up with a jerk, as a sea pounded 
against her side. At each roll, the bul- 
warks went far under, allowing a flood to 
come roaring and tumbling aboard; wash- 
ing about the main deck, tangling up ropes, 
and knocking men off their feet. Several 
seamen were kept busy attending to the 
oil-bags, whose contents were poured upon 
the waters in large quantities, but without 
the usual effect. The exposed position of 
the forward house subjected it to the full 
fury of the hurricane. The helpless bo’s’un 
lay in his bunk listening to the roaring and 
screeching outside, and once when an 
unusually big sea descended on the roof 
overhead, making the oak beams crack 
ominously, he set his teeth and thought of 
the calamity that had recently befallen an 
American ship, when the whole forward 
house with its sleeping inmates was car- 
ried overboard, and half the ship’s com- 
pany annihilated at one fell blow. 

Pandemonium reigned in the cabin. A 
sea stove in the companion door, the water 
pouring down stairs and flooding every- 
thing. Several pieces of furniture broke 
loose, and were banged against the par- 
titions half the night. Everything was 
upside down; oatmeal covered the floor 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


263 


of the steward’s pantry, and the bathroom 
was littered with broken glass. Both pas- 
sengers were thankful when daylight dis- 
pelled the most anxious night either had 
ever passed. 

For a long time, the steward could not 
get forward, nor was the cook able to get 
aft. Consequently, there was no cabin 
breakfast until nearly nine o’clock. Such 
a meal! It was eaten by lamplight, for 
great seas were thundering down on the 
poop overhead and the storm shutters to 
the windows could not be taken off. It 
had been found almost impossible to keep 
anything on the galley stove, but the cook 
and steward between them managed to 
prepare some coffee, biscuits, ham and 
potatoes. The biscuits were lost when 
the steward fell on the deck as he con- 
veyed the breakfast aft, but those who 
gathered about the table were satisfied, as 
they had their hands too full to eat any- 
thing at all, and Wilbur kept thinking of 
the line, u Some ha’ meat, and canna eat.” 

All that da}* and night the hurricane 
lasted. The following afternoon, the bar- 
ometer, after falling for a week, came to a 
stand at 28:20, and the climax had been 
reached. 


264 


Rounding Ca'pe Hoi'n. 


“I thought I had seen storms before,” 
said Wilbur, “bujt this equinoctial has 
opened my eyes. It passes my compre- 
hension how any ship can stand such a 
pounding and wrenching as this one has 
endured for three days and nights.” 

“You have both been wishing for a 
genuine hurricane ever since leaving New 
York, and now that wish has been grati- 
fied,” replied the captain. “In my twenty- 
six voyages around the Horn I have never 
seen such weather, though some ships 
catch it even worse; but with the Saga- 
more under my feet, and plenty of sea- 
room, I fear nothing.” 

The captain turned in early that night, 
for his clothes had not been removed for 
seventy-two hours past, during which try- 
ing interval he had had no rest but a few 
short naps. The passengers were think- 
ing of retiring also, when they heard a call 
from the steward, who requested them to 
come into the dining room a moment. 

“I want to show you a fine sight,” said 
he, standing by the door leading onto the 
main deck, which he cautiously opened 
part way as Hartley and Wilbur ap- 
proached. 

The hurricane had spent its force, and 
the young men looked out upon a night 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


265 

scene of rare beauty. Every cloud in the 
sky had vanished as if by magic, and the 
blue vault of the firmament was brilliant 
with countless myriads of stars. Some 
were large, some small; and to the admir- 
ing gaze of the watchers it seemed as if 
they had never seen so grand a sight, even 
in the Southern Hemisphere, where the 
numerous planets, constellations, and single 
stars illumine the night sky with a splendor 
surpassing anything of the kind to be seen 
in the North. But among all those stars, 
and groups of stars, none could compare 
with that blazing constellation that had 
now nearly reached the zenith — the South- 
ern Cross. It is first seen just before cross- 
ing the equator, but is then dim and very 
low in the horizon, and visible but a short 
time each evening. Gradually, as Cape 
Horn is approached, it rises higher and 
higher, its appearance each night being 
foretold by its two flashing “ pointer ” 
stars, which, like heralds announcing the 
coming of their sovereign, are visible above 
the horizon a short time before the Cross 
itself appears. In the vicinity of the Horn 
this matchless constellation may be seen 
high in the heavens, in all its glory — the 
stars composing it not larger than several 
others in the sky, but as completely eclips- 

-18 


266 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


in g them in brilliancy as diamonds do 
pieces of glass. Now, after three days 
and nights of warring winds and waters, 
that Cross looked down upon the Saga- 
more's naked masts and flooded decks like 
an emblem of promise and of peace. Not a 
great way off were the two curious patches 
of luminous film known as the Magellan 
Clouds, looking strange and mysterious as 
they floated among that sea of stars. 

The foam-covered water washed about 
the deck as the ship rolled, and a heavy 
sea tumbling aboard caused the steward 
to close the door in a hurry. Then the 
passengers took a gin-fizz as a night-cap, 
and turned in. 


Chapter III. 

Becalmed off Cape Horn! 

This may sound paradoxical, but calms 
do occur, though they are not common. 
But for indescribable grandeur, and as a 
manifestation of the powers of nature, 
there are few things that will compare 
with a calm in this region. 

One degree south of the Horn, on the 
57th parallel, there is no land around the 
whole earth’s surface — not even an island; 
and this is the primary reason why the 
largest waves to be found anywhere are 


Rounding Cape Horn . 


267 


met with in this locality. Here, unchecked 
and uneonfined, they sweep entirely around 
the globe; gathering strength and size as 
they move on, with nothing to bar their 
resistless march or to make them swerve 
aside even a hair’s breadth. Lashed into 
fury by a gale, these waves are sufficiently 
remarkable, but they are then in such a 
state of turmoil as to destroy all regu- 
larity, making it impossible to tell where 
one begins and another ends. So, strangely 
enough, it is in a dead calm that one is 
more nearly able to conceive of their vast 
proportions. These periods generally fol- 
low a hard westerly gale, and then it is a 
sight no words can depict, to stand upon a 
vessel’s deck and watch the approach of 
those vast walls of water; each one sharply 
defined, and wonderfully regular in form. 
From the base of one to the base of the 
next following is frequently a space of one 
thousand feet — a great valley, which, con- 
trasted with the long hills on either side, 
gives one some idea of the magnitude of 
these waves. 

Such a condition of things prevailed on 
the day after the equinoctial hurricane. 
The Sagamore had not even steerage 
way, and lay broadside on to the heavy 
swell, rolling as only a vessel can roll in a 


268 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


Cape Horn calm. The great blue hills 
came on slowly but regularly; and each 
one, as it came beneath the ship, lifted her 
up on its crest as though she had been a 
feather, instead of a vessel three hundred 
feet long, drawing twenty-six feet of water, 
and with four thousand tons of railroad 
iron and other heavy stuff in her hold. 
Then, as it passed on, there was a rattling 
of blocks and the heavy reports of canvas 
banged against the rigging, as the Saga- 
more slid down the side of the hill with 
her decks at an angle of fifty degrees. 

She had the usual nondescript crew 
found on deep-water ships, and after hear- 
ing some of them talk, one might well 
agree with Mr. Marsh “That the captain or 
mate who goes to sea now-a-days, should 
understand Chinese, Greek, Hindostanee, 
Russian-Finn, and a dozen other tongues, 
besides having the patience of Job.” It 
being Sunda}q no one was required to do 
any work but what was necessary in navi- 
gating the ship, and the men improved 
their leisure time in various ways. A few 
spruced up a bit; among them, Gene, the 
Frenchman, who was far above the rest in 
intelligence and ability. After arraying 
himself in a scarlet woolen shirt, new 
trousers and shoes, he lay down in his 


Rounding Caj>e Horn. 


269 


bunk to read, unmindful of the turmoil 
about him. Several produced sewing ma- 
terials and mended their clothes, keeping 
time with their feet while an agile young 
fellow danced; others sang coarse songs, 
or told stories. Jack, a toe-headed Scan- 
dinavian, devoured “Demon Dick, the 
Dare-devil.” He had purchased a number 
of these hair-raising effusions, and read 
them in preference to the tracts and pious 
books furnished by the Sailors’ Aid So- 
ciety, only one of which had been opened, 
and that was being used up for cigarette 
papers. Some played gambling games, 
using plugs of tobacco for stakes, while 
Jumbo, the smallest man on board (for- 
merly a trapeze performer), gave an ex- 
hibition on a tight rope which won ap- 
plause. One group discussed the subject 
of provisions, and though all agreed that 
the “grub” on the Sagamore was satis- 
factory, some found great fault with the 
cookery. Then they abused the mates, 
decided that Captain Meade was afraid to 
carry sail enough, and speculated as to 
how much Hartley and Wilbur were 
worth — for whenever there are passengers 
on merchant ships the crew seem to con- 
sider them millionaires. 


270 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


But the great “character” in the fore- 
castle was Andrew, — usually called San 
Quentin, from the fact of his having “done 
time” in the California penitentiary of that 
name. He was a hoary-headed old sinner, 
whose three-score odd years would have 
rendered him of little account before the 
mast had he not belonged to that past age 
when merchant sailors had to know their 
business, and were able seamen in some- 
thing besides name. Andrew was a voluble 
talker, and frequently related with gusto 
how he had once “knifed” a fellow sailor 
who had roused his ire. 

“A man ought to die when he gets to 
be fifty,” he remarked, rubbing a rheu- 
matic joint. 

“Better jump overboard, then,” an- 
swered a voice. 

“I’m gettin’ too old for this work,” 
Andrew continued, “and if the cap’n says 
a good word for me, I’ll try and get in the 
Sailors’ Snug Harbor when we comes back 
to New York. Sure, I’ve been goin’ to 
sea forty-six year, and I’m no better off 
now nor I was when I began. They 
teached me tailorin’ when I was in the 
pen, but I’d ship on twenty more vo}^ages 
afore I’d shut myself up in a little shop on 
shore where they ain’t room to breathe. 


Rounding Cape Horn . 


27 


But I’m a lucky old cuss ” (with a laugh), 
“for I ain’t never been wrecked in all my 
time at sea, — no, nor ever seed a wreck.” 

“Andrew’s going to turn into a tough 
old albatross when he slips his cable,” put 
in Gene, a smile on his clear-cut features. 

u Be careful ye don’t turn into a molly- 
hawk yourself, ye French devil,” retorted 
San Quentin, hurling his sheath-knife in 
the air, and dexterously catching the de- 
scending point on the tip of his little 
finger. 

“Tumble out, mates,” called a sailor, 
poking his head through the door. “There’s 
somethin’ up. All hands aft is squintin’ 
through the glass at what the matey says 
is a boat.” 

This news brought everyone out on 
deck in a hurry. Quite a distance from 
the ship, a small object floated on the 
swell, — now lifted high on a sea, then dis- 
appearing from view in the trough. The 
officers had been examining it through the 
telescope for some time, Mr. Marsh finally 
declaring it to be a boat. The sight of a 
solitary boat in such a place gave rise to 
much speculation, and when the calm was 
replaced by a gentle breeze, the course 
was changed so as to bring the waif along- 
side. 


272 


Rounding Cafe Horn . 


Within an hour the tiny craft was close 
by, and a melancholy spectacle she pre- 
sented. Bottom upward, with jagged 
splinters projecting from her shattered 
sides, she floated by on the sportive waves 
— an eloquent symbol of recent disaster. 
How had she come there? Where were 
her late occupants? None could tell but 
old ocean, glittering in the frosty sun- 
shine. Upon her stern were the words 
“Dundee, of Liverpool.” The captain 
was about to go below in order to look 
up the Dundee in the shipping register, 
when a sailor hailed the deck from aloft. 
A vessel was visible far to the south! 

The mate ascended the rigging, fol- 
lowed by the passengers; and sure enough, 
the naked eye beheld a shadowy ship on 
the horizon which the glass magnified into 
a wreck. All was excitement; the course 
was again changed, and the ship bore 
down for the distant vessel. She was 
nearly twenty miles away; the breeze was 
provokingly light, and it seemed an age 
before |the Sagamore drew near the 
stranger. 

Distress signals were flying from her 
foremast — the only spar left standing. 
The others hung over the side, their 
weight helping to careen the vessel at a 


Rounding Cafe Horn. 


2 73 


dangerous angle, besides pounding against 
her like battering-rams every time she 
rolled. Six men could be seen, one of 
whom stood apart waving a flag, while 
most of the others ran about in the most 
frantic transports; now falling upon their 
knees, then rising and extending their 
arms toward the Sagamore. The wreck 
was apparently full of water, so there was 
no time to be lost. 

Nothing short of a case like this could 
have induced Captain Meade to launch a 
boat off Cape Horn, for the huge waves 
and the liability to sudden squalls make it 
a perilous proceeding at all times. Mr. 
Marsh took command of the gig with a 
carefully selected crew, but it required 
half an hours’s maneuvering to launch her. 
At length a successful start was made, 
and the gig went racing up the side of a 
big sea, was poised giddily on its crest, 
and then darted down the incline as though 
bound for the bottom. On she went, her 
crew rowing like demons, while two men 
bailed out the water that constantly 
threatened to swamp her. 

As the rescurers neared the sinking 
vessel, the mate bawled “Wreck ahoy! 
what bark is that? ” 


274 Rounding Caj)e Horn. 

“The Dundee, or Liverpool, bound from 
Buenos Ayres to Valparaiso. We are 
foundering.” 

“We are the Ameriean ship Sagamore, 
from New York for San Francisco. Heave 
us a rope and we’re ready for you.” 

The gig was now on the lee side of the 
bark, and as near the stern as prudence 
would allow; so the men rested on their 
oars while Mr. Marsh deftly caught the 
rope flung from the wreck by her captain. 
In order to enter the boat it was necessary 
for those on the Dundee to slide down the 
rope, and then be hauled aboard when the 
end was reached. The steward and three 
seamen constituted the first load; descend- 
ing in safety, one by one, though most of 
them were submerged twice before they 
were at length pulled into the boat. Two 
seamen, an apprentice and the captain re- 
mained on the wreck, the latter declaring 
his intention of standing by his craft to the 
last, though he well knew she was about 
to take the final plunge. Already that 
uncanny moaning sound heard only on a 
foundering vessel was ascending from the 
black depths of the hold, as the rising 
waters forced out the sustaining air 
through every crevice. 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


2 75 


It was a hard pull back to the Saga - 
more , — against the wind all the way, — 
and while the mate steered the heavily- 
laden gig, the steward narrated the story 
of the catastrophe. The Dundee , com- 
manded by Captain Murray, had sailed 
from Buenos Ayres without a cargo, tak- 
ing aboard for ballast eight hundred tons 
of dirt scooped from the river bottom; and 
to this improper ballast the disaster was 
due. She labored heavily during the first 
day of the hurricane, and sprang a leak in 
several places. The incoming water soon 
converted the ballast into a liquid mass, 
which surged about in the hold, finally 
hurling her upon her side, and rendering 
her unmanageable. While in this posi- 
tion, great seas swept over her, smashing 
all the boats and loosening heavy spars, 
which washed about the decks, knocking 
down the crew. Two sailors and the car- 
penter received broken limbs in this man- 
ner, and before they could be rescued, 
all three were washed into the sea and 
drowned before the eyes of their ship- 
mates. The mate was killed the following 
night by the falling main mast, and to 
complete the horror of the situation, the 
pumps became choked with mud, render- 
ing them useless. With water pouring 


276 


Rounding Cafe Horn. 


into every open seam, those aboard the 
settling bark had resigned all hope, and 
were passively waiting for death when the 
Sagamore hove in sight. 

The ship’s side having been safely 
reached, the rescued men were quickly 
drawn up to the deck, and the boat again 
started for the Dundee. It was a desperate 
chance whether she remained above water 
until the gig could reach her; and each 
time the little craft was lifted upon a wave 
the mate looked anxiously towards the 
wreck, half expecting her to have vanished 
while his boat was in the trough. What 
kept the bark afloat during this interval 
was a mystery, but float she did, though 
suspended as it were by a single hair 
above the fathomless depths. 

When the gig brought up under her 
stern, the rope was again placed in posi- 
tion, and the apprentice told to descend. 
The youth was half way to the boat when 
he became panic-stricken at sight of a 
great sea coming on him, and cried for 
help. The wreck rolled heavily towards 
the boat, slackening the rope still turther; 
the wave rolled over the apprentice, and 
when it passed, there was the rope all on 
the surface, but the hands that had grasped 
it a moment before were gone. The bark’s 


Rounding Cafe Horn . 


3 77 


captain ran to the rail with a coil of rope 
ready to fling to the youth the instant he 
should appear, but he was not seen, and 
hope of his rescue had about gone, when 
Gene, with a sudden exclamation, reached 
over the boat’s side. He had the drown- 
ing man b} 7 the hair! After a struggle 
which nearly capsized the gig, the appren- 
tice was dragged into it, more dead than 
alive. Then the two remaining seamen 
made the trip without accident, and the 
captain was ready — the last man to leave. 

He paused an instant, his eyes slowly 
taking in every detail of the familiar scene. 
For fourteen years had he been master of 
that bark, and even his unsympathetic 
nature was stirred to its very depths at 
the moment of leaving her forever. Now, 
in these last seconds of their long associa- 
tion, a hundred past events were kindled 
into life again, and flashed through his 
brain like the successive views of a pano- 
rama. 

Hastily turning away, he tossed into the 
boat a package containing his sextant, 
a favorite chronometer, and the bark’s 
papers. He grasped the rope, — was soon 
in the water, — at the boat’s side, — and 
then safely on board. At a signal from 
the mate, Gene severed the line with his 


278 


Rounding Cafe Horn. 


sheath-knife, and the Dundee was aban- 
doned to her fate. 

“Now then,” cried Mr. Marsh, “give 
way with a will — look out! she’s going. 
Row, row for your lives! ” 

The wreck gave a sudden lurch and 
then recovered herself with a staggering 
motion just at the moment when those in 
the boat so dangerously near expected to 
see her founder. The oars were plied 
vigorously, and the gig was more than 
half way to the ship when Jumbo ex- 
claimed, “Look at her now!” 

The bark’s last moment had come. Her 
bows rose gradually out of the water, and 
she rolled slowly over, disappearing stern 
foremost, as easily as though she were 
being launched into that element which 
she had sailed so many years, and which 
was now ending her existence. The fore 
mast, with the distress signals fluttering 
in the breeze, was the last thing to vanish; 
and as it sunk beneath the whirling vortex 
a groan escaped Captain Murray. As 
chief owner of the Dundee , his financial 
loss would be considerable, but there was 
another stronger feeling. In the vessel 
which had just descended to unknown 
depths he had traversed all the waterways 
of the globe; she had been his only home 


Rounding Cape Horn. 279 

for many years, and seemed almost a part 
of himself. Kindred he had none, and the 
old bark had absorbed whatever of latent 
affection there was in his cold nature. 
Now she was gone as completely as if she 
had never existed; a few spars, an empty 
cask, and the torn British ensign, alone re- 
maining to show where she had last been 
seen. 

There was a dead silence in that little 
boat (save for the sound of the oars) for 
many minutes after the final scene. All 
seemed awed, and when at length the 
ship’s side was reached, Captain Mur- 
ray raised his head for the first time 
since he had looked on his lost ves- 
sel. His eyes were moist with the only 
tears that they had known since childhood. 
As he climbed over the bulwarks, Captain 
Meade came forward — the American 
warmly grasped the Englishman’s hand. 
With rare tact, he spoke no word, but led 
his guest down the companion-way and 
into the privacy of his own room, leaving 
Mr. Marsh to attend to the proper dispo- 
sition of the remainder of the rescued. 

Chapter IV. 

There are few sights more thrilling than 
that of a vessel foundering at sea; and 


280 


Rounding Cape Horn . 


for several weeks the Sagamore's people 
thought of little but the lost bark and her 
crew. The Dundee's steward was set to 
work in the galle}', and the able seamen 
were divided between the two watches, 
where each day’s numerous duties soon 
made them forget their recent hardships. 
Captain Murray took the loss of his vessel 
much to heart, and was greatly depressed 
for some days; but to distract his atten- 
tion, he voluntarily assumed the boVun’s 
duties, and became less despondent as time 
passed. 

During the week following the rescue, 
the Sagamore , with streaming decks, 
slowly but surely beat her way to the 
westward against contrary winds. Some- 
times it was useless to attempt to proceed 
against the tremendous head sea, and she 
was hove to for a time. Then a gale 
would swoop down, sails would be furled 
or reefed; and after it was over, a few 
hours of what Captain Meade facetiously 
called “pleasant weather” would intervene. 
Then, if it happened to be day, old Sol 
shed his kindly warmth upon the ship, and 
the leaden sky was changed to an alluring 
blue. If night, the same glorious harvest 
moon that shone on fields and vineyards 
far away, here flooded the angry ocean 


Rounding Caj)e Horn. 281 


with her soft, mysterious light. At such 
times, when it was possible to set a few 
sails, the merry clank, clank, clank, of the 
capstan was heard as the heavy yards 
were hoisted, to the wild accompaniment 
of a sailors’ chorus. Every day it was 
u Tack ship ” or u All hands reef sail,” un- 
til officers and crew were well-nigh fagged 
out. Most of those on board had been 
through the same experience many times, 
and knew that until it ended, all they 
could do was to bear their trials as best 
they could. 

But one day there were indications of 
a change for the better. The ship was so 
far to the west, that a fair wind would en- 
able her to steer north, cross the 50th. 
parallel, and leave Cape Horn behind. 
The state of the barometer, combined with 
other well known signs, led Captain Meade 
to predict “ a regular old ripper from the 
southeast,” which was just what was 
wanted. 

A violent snow-storm struck the Saga- 
more that evening, soon covering the decks 
with a mantle of white. After it ceased 
the wind nearly failed, and it was decided 
to put the ship on the other tack, so as to 
be in readiness to receive the south-easter 
which was felt to be at hand. When the 


—19 


282 


Rounding Ca'pe Horn . 


passengers came on deck after supper, the 
whole southern horizon was black as pitch, 
sea and sky blending together in one dark, 
lowering mass. All hands were called to 
strip the ship; halyards were let go, sheets 
slackened, buntlines hauled in, and then 
the men, in rubber boots and oilers, 
climbed the rigging and went out upon 
the swaying yards. The gale struck her 
before the work was concluded; the icy 
polar wind was soon screeching through 
the rigging, to the accompaniment of 
whirling snow-flakes and flying spray; 
hail-stones pattered on the deck; and 
amidst all this, the port watch had to 
work an hour overtime before it was pos- 
sible to go below and get supper. It is 
not an enviable task, — furling stiff, wet 
sails, one after another, while a bitter wind 
blows with a force that makes it necessary 
to hold on with one hand, to avoid being 
blown into the sea, while you work with 
the other — and all this at an elevation of 
sixty or seventy feet above the deck. The 
wind kept getting into the belly of the 
half-frozen sails, making them slippery as 
inflated baloons, and causing the men ten 
times the usual work to get them laid on 
the yards; while the pelting snow and hail, 
combined with the wild plunges of the ship, 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


283 


made it difficult to retain their precarious 
footing. But the job was finished at last, 
and grog served out. 

Mr. Marsh came below cold and wet, in 
spite of his oilers, and his eyes heavy from 
loss of sleep. 

“ Isn’t this as bad a gale as you were 
ever in?” asked Hartley. “They were 
stretching life-lines on the quarter-deck 
when we came below, which is certainly 
unusual.” 

The mate looked at him a minute, and 
then burst out irrelevantly, “I’d give a 
month’s pay to have the son of a sea-cook 
here who wrote 4 A life on the ocean wave.’ 
Hang me if I wouldn’t heave him over- 
board!” And he proceeded to spread a 
blanket on the floor before the stove, 
brought a pillow from his room, and threw 
himself down in his clothes without more 
words. 

The passengers spent the evening at the 
cabin windows, watching the booming seas 
roll on board. Both knew they were in 
for a night of it, and upon retiring, took 
the precaution to place the 44 weather- 
boards ” in the front side of their berths, 
that they might not be pitched out before 
morning. 


284 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


Under two topsails and a staysail, the 
ship tore through the water like a race 
horse; plunging madly forward, while the 
big seas astern chased her as a pack of 
wolves might pursue their prey. The dis- 
tinctive feature of this gale was that it 
came from the southeast, instead of from 
the west, as all the previous ones had done, 
and was, therefore, a fair wind. The one 
danger now was, lest it should increase to 
such a degree that the ship would be un- 
able longer to run before it, thus losing 
the benefit of a gale which, had it blown 
with less fury, would have carried her fly- 
ing across the 50th parallel in twenty-four 
hours. 

Captain Meade was up all night, anx- 
iously noting the behavior of the ship, 
and calculating over and over the chances 
of being able to keep on before the gale. 
Two of the three remaining sails had been 
furled when the watches were changed at 
midnight, yet still that six thousand tons of 
hull and cargo was driven through the water 
at a rate almost beyond belief. Fast though 
she went, the seas behind were beginning 
to travel more swiftly still, and already 
two had broken over the stern. Anxious 
as the captain was to go on, he was too 
good a seaman to disregard these warn- 


Rounding Cape Hor?i. 


285 


ings. In another hour the Sagamore 
might be “pooped” at the rate the sea 
was running, and so, after consulting with 
Mr. Marsh, he decided that the ship must 
be hove to. He did not come to this con- 
clusion without great reluctance and some 
foreboding, for with the great sea which 
was now on, the mere act of turning the 
ship around was attended with great risk. 
In fact, when the mate was asked for his 
opinion, he did not hesitate to say that he 
considered running before the gale prefer- 
able to attempting to heave the ship to. 
Better to stand the chance of being 
swamped, he contended, than to try an 
operation which might result in throwing 
the Sagamore upon her beam ends in the 
trough of that mountainous sea. This 
contingency was what Captain Meade also 
feared, but he decided that of the two 
dangers, going about was the least. 

Accordingly, soon after daybreak, Mr. 
Marsh bawled, “Wear ship,” following 
this order with “Port fore brace!” 

The mate was clinging to the ladder on 
the lee side of the forward house when he 
gave these orders, and before his watch 
started to execute them, he spoke a few 
words of warning. “Now, men, you all 
know there’s an ugly sea running, so look 


286 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


out for yourselves, and don’t shift about 
without holding fast to the life-lines. Port 
fore brace! Andrew, you stand by the 
starboard brace ready to slack away.” 

Jack and Montana were at the wheel, 
and Jumbo was at the lookout. All the 
others save Andrew, pulled on the brace 
until the mate shouted u Belay! Now 
haul in your slack to starboard.” They 
started to cross the swimming deck, the 
sea being then on the beam. Some had 
reached the starboard brace, othere were 
in the middle of the deck; while Gene, 
who had stopped to make the port brace 
fast, was not a third of the distance across. 
At this moment the ship gave a wild roll, 
and the next, when her starboard bulwarks 
were far down, an immence “green sea” — 
a solid wall of water — broke on board. 

What followed baffles description. 
Those who had hold of the starboard 
brace escaped by clinging tightly to it and 
ducking beneath the bulwarks, where they 
were buried under several feet of water, 
but the others fared worse, being exposed 
to the full force of the sea. Whether 
Norris, Smith, and Harry grasped the 
life-lines or not, they never could clearly 
tell, but when the ship rolled to port, the 
great sea swept them before it like flies. 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


287 


All three, by a providential circumstance, 
were knocked down and jammed in be- 
tween the iron stanchions and a spare spar 
lashed to the bulwarks, — all that saved 
them from going overboard. 

But poor Gene! He was caught up like 
a bit of chaff, and whirled away over the 
submerged port bulwarks. Everyone near 
by, including the mate, had all he could 
do to save his own life, and none of them 
knew for a few moments what had hap- 
pened. Captain Meade, from the quarter- 
deck, saw the awful accident, and his cry 
of “Man overboard!” and Gene’s despair- 
ing shriek mingled together. The captain 
was a cool man, and he desperately hurled 
a coil of rope in less time than it takes to 
tell it, but even had the lost man been 
able to grasp it, he could no more have 
held on at the rate the ship was going 
than he could have seized a flash of light- 
ning. Before the words “Man overboard” 
were well out of the speaker’s mouth, the 
poor fellow was disappearing astern; his 
white face and yellow sou’-wester being 
plainly visible for several minutes. 

It is frightful to see a fellow creature 
perish before one’s eyes, and at the same 
time know that one is powerless to render 
the least assistance — for before the Saga- 


288 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


jnore could have been brought to a stand, 
Gene would have been a mile or more 
astern. But even had he then been in 
plain sight, no life boat ever constructed 
could have lived five seconds in that boil- 
ing cauldron. The instant it touched the 
water, it would have capsized or been 
crushed like an egg shell against the ves- 
sel’s side. Death is repulsive at best to 
the young, even when the path leading to 
it is smoothed over and made easier by 
loving friends and relatives, or by the con- 
solations of religious faith. But to be alive 
and well one second, and then, before sixty 
seconds have told a minute, to be swept 
from a vessel’s deck and left to drown — 
this is horrible beyond conception. What 
mental tortures must that poor fellow 
have suffered before losing consciousness, 
to see the ship, his only hope, vanishing in 
the distance; and to know that there was 
not even one chance in a thousand for his 
rescue. Thus was Gene lost off Cape 
Horn. 

Meanwhile, others might share the same 
fate unless prompt action was taken, and 
the wonder was that the mate and his whole 
watch had not perished with Gene. When 
the ship freed herself from that sea, Harry 
and Smith managed to rise unassisted, but 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


289 


Norris lay as one dead, with blood trick- 
ling from a wound on the forehead, where 
he had been thrown against the iron stan- 
chion. Mr. Marsh ran to where he lay, 
and dragged the unconscious sailor from 
his perilous position, into the forecastle. 
Here he had to be left until the job of 
wearing ship was over, for the Sagamore 
was in more peril during those few min- 
utes than at any time during the voyage. 

She came around without accident, 
though it was a close shave, and one roll 
in particular, threw her over until the 
masts were almost parallel with the ocean. 
She lay to, well, shipping comparatively 
little water, and the mate at once investi- 
gated the injuries of Norris. He had re- 
gained his senses, but felt badly, having 
received a hard blow on the knee, besides 
an internal hurt which caused him much 
pain. The wound on the head proved not 
to be serious, and after his external injuries 
had received attention, he was helped to 
his bunk and relieved from duty until 
complete rest should have restored him. 

The gale blew itself out in twelve hours, 
and broke shortly after breakfast, a fine 
day succeeding a night of storm, anxiety, 
and death. But an atmosphere of gloom 
pervaded the ship. There was one empty 


290 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


bunk in the forecastle; one man less to 
stand his trick at the wheel or on the 
lookout; one hand less to sing out as the 
watch hauled on the braces; and that one 
was the merriest and most light-hearted 
of all. His intelligence and ready ability 
were in marked contrast to the ignorance 
and stupidity which characterized most of 
the crew, and he was a pronounced favor- 
ite with all on board; — most of all with 
Mr. Marsh, who was difficult to please. 
The mate felt very badly over the matter, 
and would not discuss it, even with the 
passengers. Captain Meade deplored the 
calamity also, and said that during his 
score of years as master, he had never be- 
fore lost a man overboard from the deck, 
though three had been killed at various 
times by falling from the yards. 

The fatality was the subject of much 
discussion among the crew. 

“ If he’d of held onto the lines when he 
was a-crossin’ of the deck, he’d been here 
now,” said one. 

“ That’s right,” said another. “ I won- 
der when the captain’ll auction off his 
clothes? ” 

“Not for a month, mebbe. He had 
some good togs, but I’d be afeerd to wear 
’em.” 


Rounding Cape Horn . 


29 


“ I never seen such an awful sea ; it 
looked half way up to the fore yard. 
Seems like Gene was too slick a bird not 
to hold on to somethin’, though. I’ll war- 
rant he jumped for the main riggin’, and 
missed it. Only yesterday he was a-tellin’ 
of me how glad he would be when the 
ship got into warmer latitudes.” 

San Quentin had so far said nothing, 
but now the old man gave his opinion in a 
loud and authoritative voice that silenced 
the discussion. “ There ain’t no use of 
explainin’ how he was carried overboard, 
nor sayin’ he’d be here now ‘if’ somethin’ 
hadn’t happened. His time had come, and 
he had to go, and that’s all there is about 
it. I’m more’n twice as old as he was, but 
my time ain’t come, nor it won’t for ten 
years yet.” With which prophecy the 
subject was dismissed. 

When the mate wrote up the ship’s log 
that afternoon, he entered: “Sept. 29th — 
88 days out — Long. 78° 10' W., Lat. 52 0 
22' S. — barometer 28:6$; slowly rising — 
very severe gale from S. E., with heavy 
sea. Ran before it till daylight, then hove 
to — Pumps carefully attended.” 

He though a moment, and added: “Eu- 
gene Escarras, able seaman, aged 25, a 


292 


Rounding Cafe Horn. 


native of Algiers, was washed overboard 
from the main deck, and drowned.” 

That was Gene’s epitaph. 


The third day after the south-easter, 
both sea and sky wore a different aspect 
than either had presented for many weeks 
past, and the air reminded one of the first 
balmy spring day after a long winter. 
Even the moaning, whistling sound in the 
rigging was gone, and the Cape pigeons 
and albatross circled through the air with 
a seemingly new significance, — which was 
doubtless imaginary, as these Antarctic 
birds revel in storm and cold. A gentle 
wind had come with the rising sun, and 
that morning, for the first time in six 
weeks, the Sagamore presented nearly 
her whole spread of canvas to the breeze; 
everything, in fact, but skysails. 

The bo’s’un’s leg was mending finely, 
and surgeon Hartley announced that he 
would soon be able to leave his bunk. 
The two mates, ill-tempered from over- 
work, and worn out from loss of sleep, 
knew their trials were nearly over, and 
looked forward to the coming weeks of 
fair and pleasant weather on the glorious 
Pacific. The various members of the crew 
congratulated each other that their days 


Rounding Cape Horn. 


2 93 


of toil were about over. Soon there 
would be no further use for mittens, rubber 
boots and oil-skins, and on Sundays they 
could lie around the warm dry decks or 
fish from the bows for hours. San Quen- 
tin and Jumbo made a wager as to how 
soon they could go barefooted, and every, 
one on board was in fine spirits 

When Captain Meade worked out his 
sights that noon, he announced to the pas- 
sengers that the 50th parallel had been 
crossed during the forenoon watch, on the 
79th meridian of west longitude! 

After twenty-six days, the ship was 
around Cape Horn. 

The two captains and the passengers 
stood about the cabin table with the chart 
spread out before them, and Captain 
Meade said, as they clinked glasses, 
11 Gentlemen, let us wish the Sagamore a 
fifty days’ run from here to San Fran- 
cisco.” 






























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